


Unsuitable Employment

by vintage1983



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Boss/Employee Relationship, Caning, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Sex, F/M, Humiliation, Lumione - Freeform, Masturbation, Rewrite, Sex, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Smut, Spanking, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2020-10-10 00:17:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20518850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintage1983/pseuds/vintage1983
Summary: Hermione Granger reluctantly takes a job as Lucius Malfoy's assistant. Her hatred of him starts to subside and is replaced with very different feelings towards her employer.Slow burn, but with lots and lots of smut to come!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Personal Assistance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957376) by [vintage1983](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintage1983/pseuds/vintage1983). 

> Hi guys! Please be aware this fic is a rewrite of Personal Assistance, a Lucius/reader fic. I wasn't allowed to post it in second person on another site and decided to rewrite it as a Lumione fic to publish there. A couple of readers have asked me to post it here and I am happy to oblige.  
You are of course welcome to read both, but please don't shout at me if you find them very similar! You have been warned! If you are enjoying that fic, thank you and it isn't abandoned or due to be taken down, so fear not!
> 
> I also know not everyone is a fan of reader fics, so might find they enjoy this more.
> 
> PS sorry, posted the wrong version of the doc first time, should be ok now!

Hermione stopped just outside the heavy, ornate office door, running her fingertips over the family crest embellished into the ancient wood that felt a thousand years old with a mix of curiosity and disdain. Clenching her fist, she stopped and hovered millimetres from the door, building herself up to knock and announce her presence. Deep down she didn’t know why she was here at all. She needed a job, that much was true. After the war she felt lost. At some point she knew she needed to go back and finish her NEWTS. She knew she would settle into something permanent eventually. The Ministry had already written to her offering her numerous posts. Hermione Granger was a young woman in demand and that was part of the problem. She felt the heavy weight of expectation on her shoulders and bitter pangs of resentment that a golden part of her youth had been lost in the fight. She had never been frivolous or foolish. It occurred to her she was neither of those things at eleven years of age.

When the dust settled, she had travelled; she wanted to go anywhere, everywhere and nowhere. She had spent time in Eastern Europe studying vampires and dragons. Still studying. She had lived in South America and learnt about exotic potion ingredients from the wizarding community deep within the rainforest. Even in her efforts to be carefree she still found purpose and learning. Going off and finding herself, whatever that meant had turned into a purposeful educational tour. Now she was home, she was in need of both something to do and there was of course the more pressing issue of making a living. Even the young and the reckless needed to eat.

The advert had been non-descript. _Personal Assistant Required_. It had asked for basic secretarial skills, efficiency, professionalism and most importantly stressed no prior experience was required. It paid surprisingly well. She had wondered if it was too good to be true. The application was sent by owl to a box number. It struck her as strange. She was right. The invitation to interview came. It was curt and to the point, simply a time and a date and signed one Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione froze at that name, it conjured memories she hoped were fading into the past and freshly stamped their imprint on her mind. She had boiled with rage. How dare he carry on as if nothing had happened? He had no right to go on with his life after what he had done. No wonder it didn’t say who the employer was. Nobody in their right mind would work for him. She reeled at the bare-faced cheek of the man to even dare to offer her an interview. And yet, here she was. It was stubbornness of the highest order, if he thought he could make her hide and cower from him, he was utterly mistaken. No, she had decided to attend and make him regret his decision. He would not toy with her. 

The urge to crumple up the reply and burn it immediately had been strong.

“Ginny, what should I do?” she had asked her friend.

“I wouldn’t go near it, or him. I can’t understand why you would. After everything that happened. No good can come of it.”

She was probably right, but outrage and bloody determination swelled within Hermione. It always had.

“The nerve of the man, to invite _me_ to a job interview!”

Ginny sighed; she knew there would be no dissuading her. She had learnt long ago that once Hermione Granger had made her mind up, that was that.

“I’ll show him, he probably expects me to run away and hide, but I won’t, Ginny. I didn’t then and I certainly won’t now.”

Her arms were crossed over her chest.

“Ron was asking after you,” Ginny offered gingerly.

Another deep sigh. Hermione and Ron had drifted apart after the war. She adored him with all her heart, but something told her that under other circumstances, perhaps if their childhoods had been more, for want of a better expression, normal, they would never have been thrown together. They were very different people. Still her affection for him was warm.

“I hope he’s well.” Guilt dug at her ribs. Three inseparable friends now seemed distant and apart. “How’s Harry? I haven’t seen him for an age.”

Ginny’s face lit up. “He’s fine, he’s doing well at the Ministry and…”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“We’re doing just fine,” Ginny beamed.

Hermione was truly happy for them, but even that brought its own reminders. She rarely saw Harry now. She knew he wouldn’t approve of her storming down to Malfoy’s office and making him squirm. He would advise her to let it go and not everything needed to be a moral stand. Still she was adamant.

Now here she was, doing all she could to conceal her nerves outside the door of Lucius Malfoy’s prestigious offices.

“Come on, Hermione, you can do this, you can,” she barely whispered to herself.

Before she could knock, a voice boomed from behind the door.

“Enter.”

It startled her. He couldn’t possibly have heard her, in fact she had gone out of her way to charm her heels beforehand so they hadn’t clacked against the cold marble floor, and she had approached as stealthily as she could. Deep down, she already knew long before she arrived for the interview, she would need at least a moment to compose herself before she confronted Malfoy.

She made him wait. Clearing her throat, she took a moment to steel herself, smoothed down her skirt and tried to pat down any stray or out of place hair. Hermione had every intention of showing him that he couldn’t rattle her. She would prove her point and leave. She was determined to look good while she did it. She had selected a high-waisted black pencil skirt that sat just below the knee and a plain white shirt, tucked in and done up enough to avoid any flesh on display. The desired look was professional. It was what he had asked for, he couldn’t insult her for that.

There had been rumours about what he was like to work for. Essie Blott had told her the story of a young woman who had turned up for an interview in full robes only to be sent away teary-eyed as ‘a dishevelled bat flapping around the office’ was identified as reason enough not to employ her. Hermione thought it a lucky escape, though that was little consolation to that poor girl at the time. She meant business.

Despite her determination, her hand still shook a little as she turned the handle and entered. Unable to force herself to make eye contact she quickly absorbed the details of the room. Luxurious mahogany shelves filled with heavy, dusty accounting books lined the walls, along with the paintings of five generations of Malfoy patriarchs glowering down at her. A grand fireplace of pale marble adorned the chimney breast and a vast leather-topped desk dominated the centre of the room. It was the occupant of the grandiose wing-backed chair behind it that was the most intimidating feature of the room. She could feel his eyes boring into her. Searing hatred coursed through her body. Hermione repressed it as best she could. The urge to scream at him and launch into an angry tirade was strong. She resisted. It would only amuse him. Instead she would play him at his own game.

Lucius Malfoy flicked through the papers in front of him and she instantly recognised her own application. There was an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the ticking of an ostentatious, ormolu carriage clock on the fireplace. She remained silent, watching and waiting. 

The last time she had seen him he was a broken and dishevelled man. The Lucius of old sat before her, his hair immaculate, dressed in black, his cane close at hand. She studied him intently. The air of superiority had returned, along with his snobbish sneer.

“Take a seat,” he commanded, his voice monotone and his face expressionless as he waved his hand and a chair slid back to bid her sit on the opposite side of the desk.

His arrogance and ignorance enraged her, but there was something else. It wasn’t fear, but she couldn’t put her finger on the feeling she had deep in the pit of her stomach. If she was nervous, she would do her best not to show it. She wasn’t here to give him that satisfaction. Her thumping heartbeat, that had fallen into a steady rhythm with the clock was now beating faster and reverberated in her ears. Each time he paused from his reading for a second, she considered speaking and each time she thought better of it. The eyes of the paintings continued to silently appraise her.

Finally, he raised his head slowly and spoke.

“Miss Granger, what a pleasure to see you again. I have to say I was most surprised to receive your application.”

“Not as surprised as I was, I can assure you. I had no idea _you_ were the employer.”

Lucius starred at her blankly.

“I see you are yet to complete your education.”

“My education was somewhat interrupted. You may recall the Battle of Hogwarts. At my school. You were there. On the losing side.”

“I understand your grievances, Miss Granger.”

Lucius’ tone never shifted. Her rage could no longer be contained.

“Grievances! Grievances, why you conceited, ignorant…”

“And yet, Miss Granger you are here, in my offices, attending an interview I invited you to. Might I ask why? If you simply wish to express your dislike of me, you could have declined by owl and done so in writing.”

“Well, you made me so welcome in your house, I felt it only right I experienced your hospitality in your place of business. Besides, I wanted to know,” she spat angrily.

“Know what?”

Lucius was still as calm and patient as when she had entered the room. Nothing she said appeared to rattle him at all. Hermione was beginning to regret this. The clock ticked, filling the silence and pressuring her to answer.

“How you escaped a lifetime in Azkaban, for starters.”

Lucius eyed her coldly. Her voice began to crack.

“How you live with yourself. I wanted to know if you are the least bit sorry for what you did.”

Tears welled and she fought them as hard as she could.

“Miss Granger, I co-operated fully with all investigations and was acquitted of any wrong-doing.”

He was matter of fact about it. It was the worst kept secret in the wizarding world that he had informed on every death eater and sympathiser in a bid to save his own skin.

“Typical,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I live with myself because I must. It may have escaped your notice that I am estranged from my wife and son. I live with no-one else.”

She scanned his face for a trace of emotion. If there was any he hid it well. Even she could concede at least he had lost something though it seemed a small price to pay for his misdeeds.

“Finally, I have invited you here to this interview, have I not, Miss Granger? I had no obligation to. I will allow you to draw your own conclusions.”

Anger spiked in her again.

“So, I am here out of pity?”

Lucius rolled his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose.

“No, Miss Granger. You are here because you are the most competent and capable applicant. I admit in the past, my…prejudices, may have barred you from consideration. I invited you here because you are a worthy candidate and if you have completed your interview of me, I do have questions.”

Hermione was open-mouthed. She had shuffled in her seat, willing herself to get up and storm out. She didn’t. Instead she sat bolt upright in her seat and composed herself. If Malfoy wanted to interview her, she would let him. She scanned his face, his crystal blue eyes twinkled in the light from the open fire. She had never looked closely at him before. He wasn’t an unattractive man on the surface. It was something she had never noticed, and it occurred to her she had never looked at him as simply that: a man. Lucius had been the father of her tormentor and nemesis at school, a cruel bully and a death eater. Now she found herself studying his face. It weakened her resolve. Her mouth had dried, and she licked her lips and found herself starring at his.

Rumour had it he was a gifted legilimens, judging by the look on his face, that may well have been true. Conscious of the inappropriateness of her own thoughts, she lifted her gaze, only to be met with piercing and disarming blue eyes boring deeply into her soul from the other side of the desk, forcing a sharp intake of breath. Hermione licked her lips again.

“I wonder,” he said with more than a hint of wickedness, “do I make you nervous?”

“Not at all,” she replied confidently. Hermione didn’t feel nervous, but there was something unsettling about sitting there now, with him.

“Your mouth appears dry. Do you need water?”

Hermione swallowed. A glass of water sounded wonderful, she refused it, unwilling to show a hint of weakness. “No thank you, I’m fine.”

“Good,” he said sharply. “What do you imagine qualifies you to act as my personal assistant?”

The interview had begun very suddenly. She thought for a minute. There was something both repulsive and fascinating about the idea. Hermione considered her answer. His eyes pressed her to hurry up and respond.

“I am more than capable of thinking for myself, as well as following instructions with care and precision. I am hard-working and conscientious. I’m a fast-learner, well organised and…”

Lucius looked bored. It broke her train of thought.

“But you are inefficient,” Lucius said curtly.

Hermione looked bewildered; nobody had ever called her that before. Though she despised herself for it, it bruised her ego. There was an indignant tone to her reply she failed to mask.

“How so?”

“Your letter is a handwritten, wordy tome, Miss Granger. This is repetitive secretarial work for the most part. A simple, generic CV comprising of your qualifications, skills and experiences would have sufficed.”

“Then I am not at all inefficient at all.”

Lucius’ eyebrow shot up.

“As a personal assistant, the emphasis is on the personal touch. Going above and beyond the ordinary is the job of a good assistant, whether it to be to win over a difficult client, or to meet the needs of their employer.”

She felt smugly satisfied with her response, as if she had regained the upper hand. Lucius paused, sucking in his cheeks slightly. His eyes narrowed.

“And you believe you can, meet my _needs?”_

Hermione ignored the way his voice curled around that word. She liked to have an answer for everything.

“Yes. I believe I can. I would not have wasted your valuable time with my application if I didn’t.”

He observed her for a moment, drawing out the pause to his own advantage. Hermione fought the urge to fill the silence. It felt like a victory at first. Lucius studied the paper in front of him. The clock still ticked out its beats. Occasionally he would glance up at her. It was unsettling, but she refused to speak first. Hermione felt her triumph waning.

Finally, he spoke.

“Excellent. Then I shall eagerly await your best efforts. I will arrange your contract immediately and expect you to start on Monday. Be prepared, Miss Granger. I expect you to arrive early and be prepared to work late. Our… _history_, shall we say, does not grant you a free pass. I expect you to work hard.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Perhaps this game had gone too far. She had meant to come here and embarrass him, teach him a lesson. She expected a scene. At no point did she imagine he would offer her the job. She struggled to know quite what to say.

“I…well…”

“Cat got your tongue?”

The remark would normally have infuriated her and been dispatched with a sharp retort. At this moment in time she barely knew her own name.

“I don’t know quite what to say.”

“Unprepared, Miss Granger? Perhaps I should reconsider my offer. If you are not up to the task, I do have other people to see. I will quite understand if you feel unable to fulfil the role.”

It was sheer manipulation. Hermione knew it and yet she walked right into the trap. He understood her arrogance and competitive nature only too well.

“Not at all. I accept and look forward to working with you.”

Stunned at her own decision, Hermione pulled herself to her feet and extended her hand towards him. Lucius was slow to reciprocate. Eventually he rose to his feet and shook her hand. His grip was firm, and his thumb brushed the back of her knuckles. Hermione watched its movements across the back of her hand but did nothing to stop it. She allowed it. There was a soft, yet possessiveness to that touch. Their eyes met. Though she held his gaze and did not flinch, she found her mouth dry again. Eventually, he slowly withdrew his hand, leaving her with a peculiar feeling of loss. She shook it off quickly.

She had never envisaged the morning playing out as it had. It seemed important now, as if humanising Lucius Malfoy would be some form of catharsis. Her own pride told her she would do an impressive job. Perhaps it might educate him about the value and virtue of those he deemed inferior by birth. There was something else, something she could neither identify, nor acknowledge. It bubbled away beneath the surface, unnamed and unrecognisable from the way even the mention of his name had made her feel before now.

“Well, thank you, Mr Malfoy. Words I never imagined myself saying.”

She tried to break the tension. It sounded clumsy and awkward.

“Welcome to my employ, words I’m sure you understand I never imagined myself saying either. Good day.”

He signalled towards the door and showed her out.

“As an aside, Miss Granger. I find, Mr Malfoy unpleasant to my ears. It sounds rather…_muggle_. I should much prefer you to address me as Sir.”

Hermione balked a little at the idea. It was so typically him, pretentious and hierarchical.

“Very well,” the look of disgust flashed over her features, “_Sir_,” she added through gritted teeth.

Hermione turned to leave. He stopped her again.

“One final thing. My business is my business. I assure you while nothing untoward goes on here and my dealings are absolutely legitimate, I do not wish to be the subject of idle gossip, nor have my trading disrupted by careless chatter. I trust you can be discreet.”

“Of course. Discretion is my middle name.”

“An unfortunate choice on the part of your parents.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She walked into that and cursed herself for saying it. Once the heavy door closed, she breathed out a deep sigh of relief. She had no idea what she was doing, no idea how to explain this to anyone else. It was a challenge. Nothing more. On the walk home, she repeated that to herself over and over again. She would prove her point and once she was indispensable, she would resign. Noble aspirations aside, it was a job and she needed one desperately. It rolled over in her mind and she was surprised to find herself at her own front door.

The interview was done.

Monday morning was another matter entirely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely reviews, subs and kudos, all very much appreciated. Please leave me some comments, I love to know what you are thinking!
> 
> There's a slow burn, but I promise there will be smut and there's a little teaser coming up!

An unimpressed owl arrived the following morning, carrying the contract. Hermione couldn’t help but tear into it like a giddy and over-eager schoolgirl. _‘Ridiculous girl’_ echoed in her head in Lucius’ most haughty tone. The image amused her. It was an out of character response to a bizarre situation, yet something about it did excite her. There was something alluring about the prospect of being able to needle and irritate Malfoy. She had wrestled with whether she had made a grave error in judgement in accepting the post. Truthfully, she still didn’t know why and was reluctant, to say the least, about mentioning it to anyone else. There would be judgement. So far, she had kept it to herself. Hermione was no closer to explaining it in her own mind, much less to someone else. Even Ginny, who she trusted implicitly and who never failed to support her wouldn’t be able to make sense of it. Ginny had encouraged her to go off and travel, she had remained impartial as her relationship with Ron had drifted and failed, but Hermione suspected she would not understand this choice. She wondered if a part of her simply missed having a fight. She had grown up constantly being vigilant, waiting for evil to strike. For years and years, it had given her a purpose, now it was gone, and it left behind a hole in her life.

She read the contract carefully. Hermione was a perfectionist; it appeared she was not alone in her exacting standards. The more she read, the faster the fear of failure crept up from the soles of her feet and threated to consume her. The tasks and requirements seemed endless and prescriptive. Guidance for suitable dress for various occasions caught her eye. It appeared she would be expected to attend functions outside of the office. Hermione had little knowledge of how Pure Blood wizarding families socialised. Outside of the ball at Hogwarts, she had little first-hand experience of formal social occasions. She imagined Lucius swanned around and lorded it over those he deemed socially inferior. She also imagined he fawned over and flattered those he imagined wielded power and influence that may prove useful to him. She hoped beyond hope that the social situations would be few and far between, or better still never materialise.

Malfoy was meticulous in expressing his expectations. Instructions on how to address certain clients, a list of people and events never to be mentioned, she snorted at that. No wonder he didn’t want to be reminded of what he was. There were rules on what could be done with the aid of magic and duties expected to be done without. It all seemed confusing and limitless. The exacting detail stretched as far as how he would take his tea in the morning; one of those tasks that should be carried out without the aid of any charm or spell. Regret welled. It was going to be a test of endurance, but she had agreed to it now and she was not one to renege on her responsibilities.

There was something else, it gnawed and niggled away at her. It was an uncertain feeling she couldn’t shake. Hermione found herself drifting in and out of sleep, haunted and unable to banish the image of Lucius Malfoy. The feel of his fingers brushing over hers returned, half a memory, half a dream.

It was simply change, uncertainty and Sunday night restlessness; she contented herself with that thought and finally slept soundly.

____________________

Arriving early and without access to the offices, Hermione seated herself on a heavy, wooden chair in the corridor and waited. She had checked her hair and make-up repeatedly, changed outfits several times before settling on a smart, but plain grey dress and a black cloak to stave off the cold outside. Nothing excessively fancy, non-descript, effortless effort. The tale of the ‘bat lady’ made her smirk. Hermione was adamant she would give him no excuse to criticise her; she was certain he would search tirelessly for something to pick at.

Finally, purposeful footsteps alerted her to his presence. Lucius Malfoy did not walk anywhere, he strode. He paused in front of her, turning his head and casting a judgemental eye over her. 

“You are early. If find your compliant eagerness…_pleasing_.”

She fully believed he considered his words to be a compliment, though his expression was unmoved, not a hint of a smile. She smiled back, as sickly sweet a grin as she could muster. She would show no weakness; she would rise above it.

Bidding the doors to open with a wave of his hand, Hermione took a deep breath. ‘Here goes,’ she muttered under her breath and followed him inside. A second wave of his hand lit the fire in the grate and turned on the lamps to illuminate the room on a particularly dark and dull morning.

“I assume you have read your contract thoroughly,” he said coldly, removing his coat and gloves.

“Yes, Sir, of course, several times in fact.”

“Why? Do you find it difficult to absorb information on the first time of asking?”

Hermione swallowed, maintaining a calm demeanour was going to be harder than she had anticipated. It seemed like Lucius was intent on provoking her at every opportunity. Her intelligence had rarely been questioned; it threw her.

“No…no, not at all. I simply wanted to be certain of every detail. It wouldn’t do to be making errors. Your time is too valuable to spend correcting me.”

Playing to his ego seemed the most successful route. Her cheeks ached from holding the saccharine grin that threatened to melt into a grimace at any time. It pained her, yet there was a sport to it. Perhaps, she could enjoy it more if she viewed it in that way.

She noticed a small smirk fight at the corner of his mouth.

“Then if you are familiar with your contract, you will be well-aware of your first duty.” Lucius gestured to the tea things set out on a small side table. “There, Miss Granger, is your first test.”

Hermione had read it in black and white, clear as day in her contract, even so she hadn’t completely taken it seriously. Lucius Malfoy stared at her expectantly.

“Come along, are you struggling with the task? I imagined tea-making was well within your capabilities. Perhaps I overestimated you.”

Lucius smirked openly. He was enjoying this and made no effort to conceal it. It crossed Hermione’s mind to tell him where to stick his job. She beamed back at him. It was her best defence. He was getting to her; she was not about to let him see it.

“Not at all, _Sir_. Your tea is on its way.”

“Excellent and remember, no magic.” His condescending tone didn’t rile her this time. Instead she imagined an endless list of hideous things she would enjoy putting in his drink. She also knew she made excellent tea and set about the task.

“Oh, Miss Granger,” he called from behind his newspaper.

“Yes,” she chirped through gritted teeth.

“There is a coat stand you are free to use…unless of course you aren’t intending to stay.”

His smugness was intense. She refused to turn around, it would only anger her. The spoon clanged in the cup. Hermione heard him tut. _‘Rise above it, rise above it,_’ she chanted silently to herself.

Finally, she carried the cup and saucer carefully across the room and placed it on the desk and waited patiently for acknowledgement. None came. Eventually he peered over his newspaper.

“Are you intending to stand there gawping at me as I take tea every morning?” he said.

“No not at all. I wondered if it was to your liking,” she felt certain it would be.

“It is…satisfactory,” he replied taking a small sip. “Now close your mouth and attend to your work. I have left a list on the desk. Through that door, off you go.” Lucius ushered her away with a flick of his wrist.

______________

Three weeks had passed since Hermione’s first morning in the employ of Lucius Malfoy. It was fair to say she had lasted longer than most. Hermione quickly discovered Lucius was noted for constantly advertising for a replacement assistant. It didn’t surprise her one bit. He was rude and constantly critical. She paid attention to detail and so far had done nothing to give him any real cause for complaint. Her new job still remained a secret. She had considered telling Ginny, she had come very close once, but she couldn’t find the right time or the right words.

She worked in a smaller adjoining office, much plainer and simpler than the lavish surroundings he inhabited next door, but pleasant none-the-less. The desk and chair were far lighter, narrower objects. There was a small stove for the winter months and the plain mahogany coat stand he had been so eager to point out. The side table for tea making had been moved into her office, since the rattling of cups was ‘a most irritating distraction.’ Hermione didn’t mind, on days he was in a particularly foul mood the less she saw of him the better. An immaculate to do list was left on the desk each morning. She answered owls, except those specifically marked not to be read by anyone by Lucius himself, managed his diary, dealt with figures and paid bills. It was rare she had cause to see or speak to him and it made the job considerably easier and more tolerable.

Occasionally he would beckon her to collect something from his desk, demand more tea or inform her he was leaving the offices. More than anything, Hermione was beginning to find it tedious. The majority of her work was, as he had suggested repetitive administrative tasks, she saw so little of him, she virtually worked alone. Though she couldn’t admit it, even to herself, part of her missed his efforts to rile her.

Today had been unusual. Lucius rarely moved from his desk, other than to come and go from the office. If Hermione was required for something, he would always bark at her to come to him, yet today there he was in the space she had almost dared to claim as her own.

She stood with her back to the door, sorting papers on the desk. She didn’t hear him approach. The first she knew of his presence was his voice in her ear.

“I wonder,” he said softly. Despite the hushed tone, he startled Hermione enough to make her jump. Her mouth fell open as he gently gripped her forearm to still her. “If you aren’t too busy, if you could attend to these rather urgent matters.”

Her breath quickened. Lucius Malfoy was standing right behind her, so close she could feel the surprising warmth of him radiating against her back, so close she could feel his breath against her neck, his seemingly innocuous words pouring into her ear like warm honey. Hermione’s mouth was almost too dry to speak. Still startled, she couldn’t find an answer, though a simple yes would have sufficed.

“Well? Are you suddenly mute? It seems to happen to you from time to time, and I had always imagined you were never short of something to say.”

Her heart was thumping so loudly she imagined it was audible to him.

“Oh course. I…I’ll see to it…right away,” she managed finally.

Lucius leant forward, brushing close against her, reaching in front of her to place the heavy brown folder onto the desk. He lingered, more than was necessary, she let out a small gasp.

“Thank you,” he whispered, placing her now limp and pliable hand on top of the file. “My dear,” he added. Hermione held her breath.

With that he disappeared as quickly and silently as he had arrived, leaving her clinging on to the edge of the desk for dear life, fearing her knees would buckle beneath her. Momentarily unable to move, with legs of jelly, she was rooted to the spot, frozen in shock and what had just taken place. In the moment, she was uncertain if it had happened at all. Perhaps she had imagined it. Lucius Malfoy had never set foot in her office before, he barely spoke to her, and looked at her with haughty disdain.

Once she could be certain he was gone; Hermione clenched her fists and shook with anger. She had foolishly imagined they had reached some kind of civil accord and level of tolerance, but no, he had to come in and aggravated her, he had no right to make her feel…that was the trouble. It was how he made her feel. Hermione liked it. She had liked the feel of his breath in her ear, her skin had prickled and responded to his fingers on her arm. At no point had she insisted he moved. Now, more than anything else, she was angry with herself. She let out a long puff of air. The shaking subsided.

_‘Come on, pull yourself together,’_ she said to herself and managed to sink into the chair. Hermione forced herself to address the work he had left. An unexpected and dull ache throbbed between her thighs and she pressed them together tightly, urgently trying to repress it. The clock on the wall caught her eye; it was going to be a long day.

­­­__________________

Hermione’s suspicions had been correct. The hands had crawled round through the minutes and hours at a torturous pace. Thankfully, she had seen and heard no more from her employer. Longing for the end of the working day had been one thing, making her way through his office and bidding him good evening was another. Aware that he was still at his desk, she packed her things into her handbag slowly and put on her cloak with extra care. Making her way to the door with the speed and enthusiasm of a wizard condemned to a life in Azkaban, she painstakingly turned the door handle as silently as possible and kept her head down, hoping to scurry through unnoticed. He often didn’t raise his head or acknowledge her at the end of the day beyond a cursory _‘good evening’_, if at all.

“I see you are finished on time.”

His voice stopped Hermione in her tracks, she didn’t look up.

“Yes, Sir, everything is done as you asked.”

“How wonderful,” he crowed. “There may be occasions where I may require you to work later, outside of your usual hours. Would that present a problem to you?”

“Not at all. I’m certain it was mentioned in my contract.”

“Indeed, it was. And I shan’t have any angry young wizards beating at my door demanding I release you to enjoy your evening?”

“No,” she laughed awkwardly, “most certainly not.”

“Oh. Are you no longer besotted with the Weasley boy?”

“Ron?” she was taken aback he had asked her about that, let alone so specifically.

“Were you besotted with more than one? I find it hard to imagine a witch would find one Weasley alluring, let alone several.”

Lucius sneered at the mention of the name Weasley. His snooty disregard for them had clearly not decreased.

“No, I…I don’t see Ron anymore,” she stumbled awkwardly over the words, she had barely discussed the breakup with Ron, let alone Malfoy. “We… drifted apart.”

“That is understandable. And no other young wizard has eagerly leapt into his place?”

He was prying now, she felt irked and yet compelled to answer him.

“No, not at the moment, there’s no-one.”

There was a sadness in her voice. If she was truthful, she was a little lonely at times.

“Excellent,” he grinned smugly, his tone illustrating how completely oblivious to her mood he appeared to be. “Then I shall see you tomorrow, bright eyed and eager. Good night Miss Granger.” She hardly dared look but couldn’t resist glancing up to be met with a wolfish grin.

“Good evening, Sir,” she whispered hurrying to the door, intent on escape.

The sound of his voice once again stopped her.

“Oh, one final matter. You are to accompany me to a meeting to take notes tomorrow. Dress as you did for your interview I think.”

“As you wish,” she muttered and almost ran down the corridor and into the street.

_____________ 

Hermione had crawled into bed. Sleep eluded her and it was all the fault of Lucius Malfoy. The day raced through her mind. Clattering her way out of the building as fast as her legs could carry her, she had leant back against the wall outside the office to compose herself. Aware her cheeks were flushed and red, she hoped she could at least blame it on the cold weather. Today of all days, she had agreed to meet Ginny for a drink. It was too late to cancel, but with so much to process, she could have done without it.

Sitting in the bar, sipping a butterbeer she imagined Lucius would find the whole scene uncouth and distasteful, not befitting a young lady in his employ. Why did that even enter her head? Why did she suddenly care?

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked, “you seem awfully distracted.”

“It’s nothing, honestly.”

The look on Ginny’s face said she didn’t believe her friend.

“Is it this new job you are so mysterious about. Are you doing some secret Ministry work?”

Hermione sighed. Everyone always assumed she was doing something so vital and worthy. She couldn’t keep it a secret forever. She may as well get it over with.

“If you must know, I’m doing office work. I’m a personal assistant.”

Ginny looked puzzled. “I know you told me that.”

“I didn’t tell you who I was working for.”

Guilt and shame spread across her face. Ginny looked concerned, still not making the connection to the interview with Malfoy.

“You can tell me, unless you can’t, if it’s a secret I mean.”

There it was again, that assumption. Hermione turned away; she couldn’t look at Ginny. “If you must know I’m working for Lucius Malfoy.”

There was a silence.

“God that must be awful. I have no idea why you went to the interview, I never thought for a second you’d take the job, or he’d offer it to you. I mean _Malfoy_. Surely there are better things you could be doing than being one up from his house elves.” Ginny was trying to be kind, it wasn’t helping.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a house elf, but he really isn’t that bad you know. Most of the time I’m left to get on with things.” The urge to defend him was new. Pushing it down, Hermione smiled weakly. That man was haunting her. He was an insufferable, pompous bully. _‘He really isn’t that bad’_ rang in her own ears.

“Don’t you hate him?”

Hermione thought for a moment.

“No, I don’t. I really don’t. I thought I would, I did. I don’t hate him. Hate is too powerful an emotion to waste on someone you don’t even like.”

“Well it’s your choice. I don’t understand it, I don’t know how you can stand to be in the same room as him, after what he did, what happened.” Ginny sighed, “but I will love and support you, no matter what.”

The two girls hugged. A weight had been lifted from Hermione’s shoulders.

“But…” Ginny teased, “since you are working there, come on, dish the dirt, there must be some. You can’t tell me he isn’t up to no good. _Him_. He’s…he’s the worst. Is that what you are up to? Are you a spy in the camp?”

Hermione wished that were true. It would give her a reason for being there people could understand and accept, it would justify it to herself.

“No and really there isn’t any dirt. It’s very…boring. I promise.”

“Then what is else is wrong with you tonight? There’s something. Is it a man? It’s a man I know it.” She pressed her hopefully, grinning madly. “I know Ron’s my brother, but you are my friend. You can tell me.”

Hermione knew that was true.

“No. It’s not. I’m fine. Leave it alone. Please, Ginny, let’s just have a drink and not talk about men.” She looked guilty. “Because there isn’t one.”

“Hmmm, I don’t believe you. Are you having another?”

It was tempting to try and drown out her day, but the constant questioning was a little too much and Hermione finished her drink, made her excuses and went home.

Mentally drained and weary, she opted for an early night. Now, hours later she still hadn’t come close to resting. Tossing and turning, her mind dragged her back to him constantly. Each time she drifted back to earlier in the day: to his body so agonisingly close to hers; the feel of his breath against the sensitive skin on her neck. The dull ache between Hemione’s legs returned; each time it thumped more aggressively until she could barely stand it. Thoughts wandered wickedly. What if he had leant forward, no more than half an inch would have done it and then his mouth would have been at her throat, kissing, biting making her moan deeply. Her imagination ran wild. The feel of his firm but painless grip on her arm was vivid, if only his hands had roamed further, his palm flat across her stomach pulling her into him tighter, fingers inching up her thighs and under her skirt, inside her panties, finding her hot and dripping with need for him.

Hermione lay on her side, hugging at the edge of the bed covers. She coiled her legs together trying to suppress the ache. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut desperately trying to think of anything else but him and _those _thoughts. They made her wet, she could feel her thighs grow damp. Unable to tolerate any more, her hand slid downwards, her own fingers found their way between her thighs and delved into the stickiness she found there.

Hermione let out a soft gasp. Overtaken by need, she stroked and rubbed, finding that tender sweet spot that thudded for attention. She gave up the fight. She allowed her mind to return to him. Would he be horrified at her need? She wondered if he would he admonish her for her behaviour. Cheeks aflame, she imagined his cold dismissal of her as a wanton, needy slut. It only fuelled her more, until Hermione found herself softly panting his name under her breath like a gentle prayer as she rubbed and circled. 

Watching his cold blue eyes and his mouth as he spoke in the interview had made her consider him attractive for the first time and now, now she was burning up with lust. Is that really all it took? The thrilling fantasy of boldly striding into his office tomorrow morning and describing exactly what she had done to herself the night before in exquisite detail made her whimper. The need to feel full was strong and she worked a slender finger inside, then another. They slipped in and out of her, slowly at first, back and forth. She would tell him how she had teased and tormented herself, toyed with her swollen clit, slid her own fingers deep inside, fucking herself as she ached and dreamed of his hard cock. If only he had pushed her over the desk, bunched up her skirt and fucked her there and then. Oh, how he would be displeased. Perhaps he would chastise her. That spiked Hermione’s excitement and forced a soft cry from her lips, she pumped faster and harder, in and out of herself. The utterly delicious and wicked and horrifying idea that Lucius Malfoy would put her across his knee and spank her bottom until it was red and raw sent her crashing over the edge. He would tell her what a thoroughly wicked girl she had been, how unacceptable her behaviour was to him, how deserved of her punishment she was. Hermione was lost to it now. It made her gush uncontrollably, her thighs quivering and hot waves of pleasure surging out from her core. She imagined begging him for mercy. Hermione came in a sharp and sudden, pulsing burst.

Panting and exhausted she drifted slowly back down from the high, only to be hit by a wall of shame and embarrassment. Of course, she wasn’t going to tell him what she had done. Instead she would do all that was in her power to scurry past him and avoid all eye contact and small talk. Not just tomorrow, but forever. Lucius Malfoy had at best meant nothing by it, at worst he was entertaining himself at her expense.

Her heartbeat had slowed, and her breathing returned to normal. Hermione was mortified, not only at the thoughts she had, but that it was him. Of all the wizards she had ever known or met, why did it have to be him? She felt as though he had beaten her. Lucius had taunted her and now she was a quivering wreck imagining him doing unspeakable things to her. Angry at herself she turned over and huffed.

In the dark and quiet, a thought struck her. Something that had been in lost in the blur of lust and bewilderment. Was Lucius Malfoy really trying to ascertain her relationship status?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this and are craving more HP there are two fun and smut-filled SSHG one shots- Results Day and A New Term.  
For Jason Isaacs devotees take your pick, but I urge you to give my Captain Hook/Wendy fic Beyond the Blue a try, or dip your toe into Named and Unnamed Guilt, my OA fic.  
Vin x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and all of you lovely subscribers! Please leave me a comment or two if you can, I would love to know your thoughts! 
> 
> I do hope you are still enjoying this, lots more to come. Slow, burn but the smut will come I promise!  
If need something to fill the void, you might like my two SSHG one shots (Results Day and A New Term- adult Hermione and a very much living Snape) or for Jason Isaacs fans, take your pick but Beyond the Blue, my Captain Hook fic has all the feels and the smut you may well be seeking.
> 
> Enjoy!

Lucius sat alone in his office. He was playing a dangerous game and he knew it, but he was unable to resist, she was just so thoroughly tempting. Nobody was more surprised than he, as he had scanned the pile of applications and one name leapt out at him: Hermione Granger. He had been thrown off guard when she had turned up for the interview, let alone when she accepted the job offer, he had no intentions of ever making. Lucius was still uncertain as to why he had allowed the whole charade to play out as it did. She had been a constant source of irritation and a thorn in his side as a child. He was taken aback by the stunning young woman who had walked into his offices.

Sometimes he was rather surprised by the often-skittish thing who inhabited the adjoining room during business hours. The only reasonable conclusion he could draw was that his presence extracted this uncharacteristic response. There was a fierce defiance in her, but it was a spark he rarely saw. He had enjoyed sparring with her; it had been unexpected. It pained him to admit it, but the work he gave her was so evidently beneath her. Brighter and more conscientious than her predecessors, she never fell behind and rarely made errors he needed to correct. Ah, correction, that was something he was sure he would enjoy. His cock twitched and began to come to life. Certain he had seen her give him looks that lingered a little too long, it provoked him to test his theory today and now he knew without doubt there was opportunity there.

The thudding of her heartbeat, the hitching of her breath as he had leaned as close as he dare, oh he was most convinced now. It would still be a challenge and he would need to proceed cautiously, but he was certain it was on the cards. He would make it inevitable. Hermione would be a pleasure to train, though he hoped she would not submit too easily. Now where was the sport in that? There were glimmers of that far feistier side in the interview. The look of her was perfection. Those plump lips in dire need of their lipstick smudging, her body pressed into that tight skirt that cried out to be yanked up and ripped, her hair pinned up tightly and neatly waiting to be dragged into a mess; it was everything he could have wanted and more. He was now fully hard, his cock straining and stretching the fabric of his trousers, demanding attention. The idea of furthering her education was an entertaining prospect indeed. How dull and uninspiring the Weasley boy must have been for her. It wouldn’t be long before she mewled and begged by his hand.

Very much alone, in the seclusion of his own private offices, knowing with certainty he would not be disturbed, he took his cock in his hand and drew long, rhythmic strokes. Closing his eyes, he imagined her ripe, exposed bottom high in the air, her wrists and ankles suitably bound as she fought to contain every whimper with every stroke of his palm across her behind.

Lucius drew air in sharply through his teeth, as he pictured the rosy imprint of his hand, marking her, branding Hermione Granger as his possession. The idea was delicious. He tightened his grip on his shaft and tugged harder. Dewy drops were already starting to form at the tip. Lucius only had to take one look at her to know that wench would thrive on his dominant attention, more than that, she would desire it so much she would misbehave to earn a greater punishment. When she could truly take no more, then, and only then would he fuck her, hot, willing, wet and welcoming. How she would plead until he relented, then she would thank him, so very gratefully.

Lucius came with a hard grunt and smirked to himself. That uptight little thing was so completely unprepared for what was to come, but it was not to be rushed. He strongly suspected her experiences were limited. No, he would play the long game this time.

___________________

Hermione crept into the offices as quietly as she could. It struck her as rather unusual that Lucius was exceptionally early, generally a stickler for precise punctuality, he was always on time, no sooner, no later. The hope that she could squirrel herself away behind the safety of the door long before he arrived was shattered. The only option was to face him and pass by as quickly as possible, avoiding eye contact and choosing her words carefully. Fantasy had overtaken her last night, forcing _those _thoughts out of her mind was an ongoing struggle. Hermione’s cheeks flushed scarlet at the memory of the imagery and her deeds the night before.

“Ah, good morning,” Lucius said in an unusually chirpy tone.

It threw her immediately. She was embarrassed enough as it was, making cheery small talk was an unwanted hinderance to her attempts to conceal the shame burnt on her face and scuttle out of sight. Lucius was nothing if not observant.

“You look terribly red-faced, it must be that dreadful bracing wind. The weather is insufferable at present, don’t you think? Here, come and warm yourself by the fire a moment.”

“I’m fine really, I can light the stove next door. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” The excuses were feeble, it sounded as if she was lying to the Ministry about something terrible. Other than wearing a flashing sign saying ‘guilty’ in bold neon letters there was little else Hermione could do to look any more suspicious.

“Not at all,” he gave a smile of pure evil, “I _insist_.”

Lucius signalled to the enormous armchair by the already roaring fire.

“Thank you,” Hermione barely rasped, her eyes down, avoiding his at all costs. Of all the days for him to start introducing civility and friendliness to the workplace, it had to be today. Normally, slipping past him in the morning was effortless. Most days he barely registered her arrival; not today. The rumour he was a highly skilled legilimens invaded her thoughts. Oh goodness, did he know? The indecent imaginings she had succumbed to still burnt white hot through her body. She was holding it together, just, but it was barely contained below the surface. Still Hermione couldn’t look him in the eye, she couldn’t look at him at all, even the sight of the desk was a minefield. She wanted to squeeze her eyes tightly shut and drive away the picture of him bending her over it and spanking her bare bottom. Taking a seat cautiously, the vast chair seeming to engulf her, and she focused her attention on the flames. It was hardly helpful imagery.

“It is chilly, don’t you agree? Even for this time of year.”

Lucius Malfoy had terrified and repulsed Hermione Granger for years. Even the revelation she had come to in that last twenty-four hours, that the idea of him could excite her was shocking but not beyond the realms of possibility, what he was doing now was another new discovery: he could completely baffle her. The very thought of him chattering about _the weather_ of all things was throwing her even further off kilter. It was bizarre. His icy demeanour convinced her that he was oblivious to the cold. Searching for a distraction, she warmed her hands dramatically and nodded.

“We shall depart for the meeting at ten o’clock. You must take detailed notes of the conversation. I expect you to miss nothing and to say nothing. Is your task clear?”

There was something reassuring in his exacting orders, it at least appeared normal, if anyone could ever call working there ‘normal’.

“Absolutely clear.” This time she nodded over enthusiastically and forced a smile. It felt so unnatural and false it made her face hurt to maintain it.

“Then if you require no more clarification, I shall take tea now.”

It took every ounce of self-control to rise gracefully and overcome the urge to run, fleeing to the refuge of her own space. Challenging as it was, she thought she had just about pulled it off. Slowly preparing the drink at least gave her a moment out of sight and time to regroup. Once she had silently deposited his tea on the desk, she was thankfully undisturbed until the tenth chime of the clock announced it was time to go. Hermione considered casting two charms, one to aid her writing speed, the other a listening charm to ensure she missed nothing. It infuriated her the thought had even entered her head. She knew she was more than capable of the task. Somewhere from deep within her the desire to please and impress him was battling with her loathing of the man and all he represented. Still, she had taken the job with the faint hope she might be able to make him reconsider his view of her and others like her. Doing a shoddy job now would only set back her objective. Hermione relented and used both spells.

Making her way through the crowded and bustling street in the company of Lucius Malfoy quickly taught her two things. Firstly, wearing heels and trying to keep up was a terrible idea. She had to virtually run to keep up with his pace, yet it seemed perfectly natural and effortless to him. Secondly, people stared, they stared _a lot_. It shouldn’t really have come as any great shock. He turned heads. Some looked on purely because of his fame, some because of his infamy, she imagined others had their eye drawn by a striking and imposing figure of a man. Either way a path seemed to clear in front of him as he glided down the street. Witches and wizards appeared to step aside. A number of people looked Hermione up and down and spoke amongst themselves in hushed tones, their glances questioning why she was with him. Hermione Granger was a recognisable face. Though not unaccustomed to the occasional glance and whispered comment, now she was gossip. Tongues would wag. It stood to reason, given their history. She had told nobody but Ginny about the job. Hermione wondered how long before owls started arriving and people demanded answers. She sighed and moved on through the crowded street. It was an unsettling journey and she was relieved to finally reach their destination. Lucius paused at the entrance, allowing her to catch up.

“Come along girl, we have no time for dawdling and daydreaming.”

The meeting itself took place in the vast and grand boardroom of fellow Slytherin businessman, Montague Pyke. The room was large and ostentatious. He looked very much at home there. The marble fireplace stood at least ten feet tall and a polished mahogany table dominated the centre of the room. Just like at the Malfoy office, the wall was lined with the Pyke ancestors who looked down on her with haughty and unimpressed expressions. It was a glorified gathering of men connected by an old boys’ network. Lucius briefly introduced Hermione as his assistant. Pyke’s face painted a vivid picture.

“_The_ Hermione Granger,” he said, reluctantly extending a chubby hand.

“Yes, the very same.” Hermione answered curtly, shaking his hand firmly and grinning. She understood she was deeply unwelcome. Though nothing specific had ever been pinned on him, she knew what he was. At best he had been a silent sympathiser, at worst he had colluded and conspired in the war.

“A pleasure,” he said unconvincingly.

He was a short, rather portly man with a ridiculous moustache. Though his booming voice and superficially friendly demeanour made him appear jolly, there was something off and lecherous about the way his eyes skimmed over her.

“All mine, I’m sure.”

Hermione gritted her teeth. Lucius shot her a disapproving sideways glace.

She smiled, though it pained her.

He now addressed Lucius as if she wasn’t in the room. “I say old boy, good to see you. Rather surprised at the company you are keeping these days. Some sort of deal, arrangement, that sort of job? You know take on one of that sort, we’re all friends together.”

Rage bubbled and rose within her.

“Not at all, my dear fellow. Miss Granger is a most efficient employee.”

“I must say I’m surprised you have…_her_ in your offices.”

She had heard enough.

“Just what do you mean by _that sort_?”

Hermione spat the words at him furiously. Lucius remained silent. Pyke appeared flustered, his eyes darting between her and Malfoy.

“Ah well, I meant, well, I meant to say…”

“I know what you meant to say, and I don’t appreciate it. I’m stunned and horrified people who think like you still exist.”

“Come, come,” Lucius spoke softly. “There is no need for a scene. There is business to be done and that is the purpose of the visit. Let us leave politics out of the discussion.”

“It’s not me causing a scene. It’s…it’s.”

His eyes bored into her. They were not angry, but they urged her to be silent. Lucius did a great deal of business with Pyke. She reminded herself she was here to do a job. Hermione huffed through her nose, still angry, but on this occasion willing to swallow it down and get on with it. 

“Shall we get down to business, Monty.”

“Of course.”

The meeting commenced, Pyke remained stilted and awkward, cautious of revealing anything. At crucial moments he would glance at her and pause.

“Oh, come now, you may speak freely, Miss Granger is a very loyal assistant, she takes care of all of my dealings. I trust her implicitly.” Lucius hissed and patted Hermione’s arm. It was unexpected and threw her a little. She decided it was probably more for the benefit of his companion than an act of reassurance for her. Still, she found herself rubbing at the spot where his hand had been as if it had burnt an imprint there.

Pyke seemed to relax a little after that but spoke quickly. Their chatter was convoluted, Pyke still inclined towards being secretive, stopping mid-sentence and gesturing towards her, obviously mouthing words as if she were an idiot and wouldn’t follow. Each time, Lucius would nod and encourage him to continue. Hermione had never been so grateful that had the forethought to cast those charms. Anger still brewed within her and knocked her concentration. Lucius glanced in her direction occasionally and on top of everything else, she was fighting the urge to become totally distracted and watch him: assured; arrogant and articulate. He commanded the room with ease. Somehow, Hermione managed to maintain enough focus to do what she had to until proceedings were over.

“Well, thank you. I believe that concludes our business.”

Lucius grinned and shook Pyke’s hand. She was still silently fuming at the audacity of that smiling buffoon.

“Nice to meet you Miss Granger.” He did not offer to shake hands this time. Instead his gaze ran over her body.

Pyke didn’t make eye contact as he spoke, addressing Hermione’s chest. A bead of sweat had formed on his brow and he licked his thin lips. Without looking up, he spoke to Lucius. “I must say, Malfoy, I am beginning to understand why you keep her around…I can definitely see it.”

A look of disgust flashed across Hermione’s face.

“Come, we have taken up enough of your time, we should depart.” Lucius urged.

Hermione turned to leave. Pyke’s chubby hand squeezed at her bottom.

“Delightful,” he purred.

Hermione snapped, she spun around her arm reacting to the invasion and moving almost of its own accord to slap the man in the face. Lucius caught her wrist. The desire to wriggle free and punch the idiot was strong, but she was certain she had caught her employer delivering a deathly stare to her assailant.

“How dare you? You pig, you beast! What do you think gives you the right to touch me? Me, after you could barely contain your disgust when I arrived here. Good for some things and not others? Is that how it works? Well, is it?”

Pyke stared back, open mouthed.

“Well is it? Answer me, you odious little man.”

Hermione drew her wand and pointed it at him, trying to disguise and steady her hand as it shook with rage.

“I say Malfoy, I’m not putting up with this in my own offices.”

“Yes, yes, come along, Miss Granger. We are leaving.”

Lucius had placed an arm on her shoulder and was ushering her away and out through door. She allowed him to guide her out into the corridor, her wand falling to her side. 

“Wait there,” he snapped and went back into the boardroom.

“A word, my old friend, before I depart,” Lucius said.

Montague Pyke grinned merrily as if nothing had transpired.

Now alone in the corridor, the door remained open ajar and Hermione peered in through the gap. Lucius spotted her immediately, fury flashed in his eyes and with a rapid swish of his wand the door slammed closed.

Hermione was surprised to find she could hear Lucius’ voice clearly. It dawned on her that the listening charm she had cast earlier in the day was rather more effective than she had imagined.

“Out. Of. Order,” Lucius hissed.

“Now Malfoy, don’t tell me you haven’t had a look, or more, eh? She’s a fine figure of a girl. Tempting is she not?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he replied bluntly.

“Then you can’t mind me having a crack myself?”

“Whatever would your dearest Sybil say to that, old chap?” Lucius replied. There was a definite sharpness to that.

“Poppycock, Malfoy. We are stuck with wives for the rest of our lives, having a little fun with a firm young filly is what men like us do. You know that as well as…” His voice trailed off. It had been a long time since Lucius Malfoy had been a married man. It was a sore point. 

“I advise you to leave well alone. Do I make myself clear?” Lucius snapped.

“Well of course. I wouldn’t want to tread on your toes. I’m surprised at you, Malfoy.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Going all soft…over a filthy _Mudblood_.”

There was a scuffling sound. Hermione’s imagination filled in the blanks and she could picture Lucius gripping the other man by his collar and pushing him against the wall, pinning him there. A satisfied smirk crept across her face.

“_That _girl is in my employ and therefore under my care and off limits.”

“Be…be careful then my friend because that girl looks at you like she’s very much hoping to be employed by you in other ways. I’d have had her working under me by now. That it then, Malfoy, not getting anywhere?”

There was a low, pained groan. Whatever had occurred was the source of discomfort.

“Now, to the pressing matter and reason for my visit, is the deal done? I don’t have all day. I have been more than fair with you, there is wealth to made and nothing is to jeopardise that.”

“Malfoy you haven’t changed a bit,” the man seemed rather grovelling now.

“No. I haven’t.” There was a brief pause and she imagined he was putting on his cloak and gloves. “One more thing. Keep your hands to yourself in the future, lest I should have to turn you to bones and feed you to my hounds. Good day.”

A second later he burst through the doors, a displeased sneer on his face.

“Come along, girl,” he bellowed as he left Hermione in his wake.

She scrambled to pick up her jaw at the conversation she had just overheard and clattered after him as fast as her legs and ridiculous shoes would allow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, your lovely comments (do keep those coming, they really keep me going and make my day), subscriptions and kudos.   
I hope you are all still there and enjoying the story.
> 
> I'm sorry, the burn is still slow...  
Enjoy, Vin x

Once outside and into the relative safety of a public street, Hermione could hold it in no longer. She had little control over what spilled out of her mouth.

“I suppose you are going to sack me now?” she snapped. Attack seemed like the best form of defence. Lucius studied her coldly. She continued. “He had it coming, he deserved more, worse, I wished I’d just…I wish I’d just…”

Truthfully, she didn’t know what she would have done, with her wand drawn, angry and outraged. She knew she had wanted to punch the vile little creep in the face. She knew he had stopped her. 

“No, Miss Granger, I am not going to terminate your employment, despite the lack of self-control you displayed in the offices of a very influential business partner.” Lucius spoke sternly, like a displeased school master addressing an unruly pupil. “Perhaps I should. I can do so if you wish, or you are free to resign. You are not my prisoner.”

“So, you think that was acceptable? I should put up with that. You can take me places to entertain your slimy mates? I only didn’t do more because you…you?”

“Prevented you from finding yourself in a damaging lawsuit or under arrest for turning a well-connected wizard into a toad?” He smirked slightly. It forced a smile from her, the image of a toad was apt. “As it happens, I do not find that sort of conduct acceptable. I don’t know what sort of monster you imagine me to be, but I can assure you I am not _that_ sort of monster.”

She looked up at him and believed him. A twinge of guilt struck her. She had thought him a monster, often and venomously, but in spite of it, Lucius had defended her. Not completely or without ending the conversation in such a way as to preserve his own self-interest, but he had challenged Pyke. She felt obliged to thank him but knew she couldn’t admit to what she had overheard. In amongst the shock and anger that came and went in waves, she had almost forgotten his words, the muffled sound of whatever he did behind the door and the fact that, in his own way he had addressed it on her behalf.

“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

There was a hint of shame and her head dropped.

“Then come along, a further scene in the street is hardly an ideal state of affairs.”

Lucius turned on his heels and set off down the street.

Hermione said nothing on the journey back to the offices. What could she say? Still reeling from the shock that Lucius Malfoy had gone out of his way to defend her, coherent words and thoughts currently eluded her. Had he gone as far as to warn him off? She didn’t dare dwell on that possibility and what it might mean, it would drive her insane. Besides, it was ridiculous. It was an expression of nothing more than his displeasure at someone overstepping the mark. He had said as much, she was his employee. Somewhere, buried deep there was disappointment at that. She refused to acknowledge that thought.

She clicked along behind him, a few beats behind the tap of his cane against the pavement. Even if she could think of something to say, it was unlikely to be intelligible and it wasn’t as if she could broach the subject. Guilt niggled at her. Embarrassment aside, Hermione wasn’t meant to have heard any of that conversation; she could hardly announce she had listened in like a spy. The fact that it was unintentional would hardly register. She could kick herself for allowing her imagination to run away with wild ideas; he wasn’t even nice to her most of the time.

Upping her pace, as he left her trailing behind in his wake, she tried her best to keep up and just not fall over. Lucius appeared to glide through the busy street. He stopped. It was sharp and abrupt, a movement that rather suited him, so sudden Hermione almost clattered into him. Smoothing down her cloak, conscious she must look dishevelled and out of breath, she did her best to look composed.

He turned slowly.

“I am in need of sustenance and intend to stop for lunch. You shall join me.”

It wasn’t a question, or even a request, but a rather blunt instruction. On other days it might have irritated her that he felt so absolutely entitled to claim her lunch break, however today she had lost the will and inclination to argue with him. It was a seemingly trivial concession, but it begged the question how much she might be able to let slide when it came to him.

The oddity and ridiculousness of it struck her: Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy sitting down to a civilised lunch. Nobody would have thought it, least of all her. The slightly bemused expression on her face had clearly registered. Though it rarely had an impact on his demeanour or attitude, he was evidently not oblivious to non-verbal cues. Hermione had wondered at times.

“At my expense, of course,” he added.

While a kind gesture like that from someone else would have been accompanied with a smile, not from him. No, he stared hard at her, virtually challenging Hermione to have the audacity to refuse. Perhaps she should. His icy glare bored through her. Lucius, intimidating a man as he was, did not frighten her. She had stood up to him and worse as a child. She had always been able to hold her own and did not suffer fools gladly, yet he was something else entirely. She tried not to look back at him for too long. Defiance was giving way to alarmingly omnipresent knot in her stomach that seemed to tighten at inconvenient times. That knot was twisting right now, beginning to tug at her, the first signs of liquid heat starting to pool in her underwear. How did he do it? With just a look? Not any look either, but an arrogant, self-important, disdainful look that should horrify her. It had. For years. Now it seemed to turn her to mush. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn it was dark magic at work.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” she mustered feebly, finding herself agreeing without comment or a fight. The belief she was shaken and probably should eat something provided little comfort. Hermione was angry at herself. Still, it was only lunch. Perhaps he was more generous and thoughtful than she first thought, or perhaps he was simply tired of dining alone. He must get hungry; everybody needed to eat. _It’s just lunch_, she reminded herself as they entered the restaurant.

The proprietor looked heartened yet dismayed by the arrival of a wealthy but disgraced, pure-blood wizard on the premises. Hermione imagined he spent well but was a difficult customer and would hardly be shy of making a complaint. The pleading-faced owner seated them at the best table by the fire in the hopes of appeasing his challenging patron. He bowed and scraped. Hermione gave him a smile and thanked him.

“Will you take wine with your meal?” Lucius asked expressionlessly.

“Errr…”

Hesitant to agree, it crossed Hermione’s mind that this could be a test. She’d put nothing past him. _‘Drinking during business hours, Miss Granger, dear me.’_ The imagined words rung in her ears. Another part of her felt she deserved a drink and it would steady her nerves.

The waiter appeared, standing expectantly, waiting to take the order.

“It is not a difficult question, Miss Granger. Would you like wine with your meal?”

Lucius grew impatient, tapping his finger against the leather-bound wine list. The waiter still hovered.

“Well, I probably shouldn’t, but I suppose…”

Having pondered the question too long and before she could make up her mind, he had already ordered a very pricey bottle and specified two glasses.

“I wondered if it was wise. I wouldn’t like to think my work suffered this afternoon,” she said. There was a grain of truth in that, as well as the horrific consideration that she might drunkenly say something she would instantly regret.

Still looking unimpressed, he replied, “I’m certain the level of duties you undertake can be completed to a satisfactory standard, even mildly inebriated.”

Hermione gritted her teeth.

“I like to think my efforts exceed merely satisfactory.”

He studied her for a moment. His face softened a fraction.

“Confidence, a quality I can appreciate, though beware over-confidence,” he said, snatching her notebook and flicking through the notes from the meeting.

“A pleasing effort, surprisingly accurate, thought I see your handwriting has suffered greatly from working at speed” he smiled, delivering a backhanded compliment.

The wine arrived. Lucius swirled it around in his glass, sniffing at it, before taking a small sip.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a large glug.

Lucius looked on incredulously. “I must say I never envisioned you as a hardened drinker, Miss Granger.”

“I’ve had a rough morning and don’t assume I’m dull. I can hold my own.”

Hermione smirked.

“I had always imagined you were a studious and sensible young woman. Your expression tells me I may be misinformed. You must regale me with some of your most salacious stories sometime.”

His eyebrow shot up; the whole thing was surprisingly light-hearted, flirtatious even.

_It’s not a date_, she reminded herself.

“My stories may be a great disappointment to you, but trust me,” she said taking another large mouthful, “I am nowhere near as boring as you imagine.”

It was a complete lie, but she sold it well.

“Hmmm, then I can be assured you are well-versed enough in social propriety whilst maintaining the ability to, shall we say, let down one’s hair.”

Hermione had gulped down the wine faster than she should have on an empty stomach. It had certainly made her bolder.

“Oh, I like to think I can enjoy a good party,” she grinned, before becoming conscious she had started to twirl a stray strand of hair round her finger like an idiotic school girl and backtracked quickly, adding, “without making an exhibition of myself at least.”

“Then it is settled,” he announced. “you shall accompany me to the Grand Winter Ball.”

Hermione was dumbstruck. It was understood there would be some evening events to attend, possibly some social events, but that was a long way from anything she had imagined. The event was considered prestigious, invitation only. Though it was never acknowledged the understanding that it was an occasion for pure blood families to show off was implicit. Not just pure blood families, but a certain sort of pure blood family; rich and well connected. Not even Harry was on the guest list which as far as she knew comprised mainly of Slytherin alumni with lots of money and shady pasts. Still, it was noted for being spectacular. It would be an experience if nothing else.

“I…I don’t know what to say, thank you. It would be a pleasure.”

Hermione managed to sound enthusiastic, perhaps a little too enthusiastic. She wanted to think it was an interesting opportunity to see how a certain, secretive part of wizarding society lived it up, the honest truth was she hadn’t been out anywhere for an age and the idea excited her. Aside for the Yule Ball at school, she had never been to any sort of event like that and she imagined dainty canapes and flowing champagne. Lucius noted a twinkle of excitement in her eyes.

“Now don’t get carried away, girl,” he snapped, “there is business to be done and you shall act as my eyes and ears. Your presence is a little more…disarming than mine. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course, of course. I understand. I’ll do my best.”

Hermione tried to regain a serious and professional appearance. The wine had made her head slightly fuzzy and lowered her guard.

“I expect nothing less. Believe me, more business is done at parties and around the dinner tables of the influential than has ever taken place on a street such as this.”

His lips curled into that wicked smile, as cold and calculated as ever. It should have horrified her; it didn’t. 

Managing to make small talk, Hermione survived the meal. She made a concerted effort to sip her wine. It hadn’t escaped her notice that she had drained the glass more than once and Malfoy had been quick to top it up. Hermione barely noticed the second bottle arrive but knew she daren’t drink anymore. As he tried once more to replenish her drink, she instinctively reached out to stop him, only for their fingers to awkwardly brushing against each other. She pulled hers away as if they had been burnt.

“Please, I really couldn’t drink another drop, I will be utterly useless to you for the rest of the day,” she pleaded.

“Come, come, another glass surely wouldn’t do any harm. Besides it would be criminal to waste a fine vintage such as this.”

Trying to work out his expression was always a challenge, she almost read disappointment at the refusal. Though it was true she could generally hold her liquor reasonably well, the morning had ruined her appetite and having wolfed down the first, generous glass he had poured to fortify herself, it was starting to take its toll. Hermione’s eyes were growing heavy and her words blurred together a little. The food was good; she felt guilty for eating so little. Malfoy had noted her reluctance to eat and tried to insist it was returned to the kitchen immediately if it wasn’t up to scratch. Now she was regretting not eating more. Her head began to swim.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she giggled.

The joke fell flat. Lucius looked stern, even more than usual.

“Absolutely not. What could possibly give you that impression? Foolish girl. You should hurry along, you’re very late in returning to the office and I have matters to attend to elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione mumbled as she threw on her cloak.

Lucius said nothing more and ushered her out as he paid the bill. She didn’t see which way he went after that, but the rest of the walk back to the office was slow. She plodded heavily and there was a fiery agony in the soles of her feet as she trudged along in heels.

Thankful Lucius was out for the rest of the afternoon. The walk had been sobering and she set about her remaining tasks, longing for a potion to clear her head. Forcing herself to concentrate, she transcribed the minutes of the meeting, her face twisting in disgust every time she wrote Pyke’s name.

Lucius did not return that afternoon. Relief was tinged with another feeling. Hermione had glanced between the clock and the door more times than she cared to admit, the frequency increasing as she reached the final working hour of the day. Sighing deeply, as the clock finally struck five, she packed up her belongings and made her way home.

xxxx

Hermione had been in two minds whether to cancel her evening with Ginny, suspecting she would be poor company, but she didn’t have the heart to let down a friend. Now she found herself sat on the sofa, grateful for the company. While she adored Ginny deeply, being alone had never troubled Hermione. As an only child, she had rather struggled with the bustle of a dormitory when she had first gone away to school. Living alone, peaceful evenings had been a cherished blessing; these days they were rapidly becoming a tortured fight not to think about Lucius Malfoy. Aloof and as constantly displeased as ever, yet his words at the meeting still echoed. It wasn’t easy to imagine him acting out of simple, common decency. She had quickly gathered his approach to business, whilst not technically illegal, rather bent the rules of fairness. His outrage at Pyke’s behaviour had surprised Hermione.

She had returned home to find three owls waiting. There was the regular and speculative one from Ron enquiring after her health and well being that hinted it would be nice to see her. Hermione sighed. The other two were as expected, nosy enquiries as to why she was out and about with Lucius Malfoy. One came from Lavender Brown, now a reporter at the Daily Prophet. It was a thinly disguised attempt at fishing for a story. She sighed again. The other came from Pansy Parkinson, a girl who had never given her the time of day in their years as classmates, now suddenly awfully interested in how she was doing, terribly sorry to hear she and Ron had broken up and slyly saved for the final line an enquiry about Lucius. _Nosy cow! _She thought. Hermione thought Pansy had always been keen to get Draco back, she was undoubtedly looking for a way back in. She huffed loudly this time and imagined it was probably only the beginning and replied to none of them.

At least this evening she hoped she could put him out of her mind. A companion was a welcome distraction. Hermione imagined the look on his face if he knew what they were doing, the unspeakable horror of viewing a muggle television. The expression of disgust on his face if he had witnessed the scene of two giggling young witches, drinking and consuming deeply unhealthy snacks to such low brow entertainment amused her greatly. The determination not to spend another night pouring over every detail of his face seemed to weaken by the second glass of wine, since this was her fifth it seemed inevitable. On top of the afternoon’s merriment, Hermione was decidedly drunk. 

“Ron’s been asking,” Ginny said with barely disguised reluctance.

“Urgh.” Hermione looked at Ginny, she hadn’t meant it to come out quite like that. “I’m sorry, I know he’s your brother, but…He sent me another owl today.”

“He is my brother and to be honest it would do him good to get over it. You’re my friend too. Perhaps you should…you know get back out there.”

“I’m fine as I am, really I am.”

“Just go out, nothing serious. It doesn’t _have_ to be serious.”

“Says the girl who is going to marry her school sweetheart?”

Hermione gave her most ridiculous know-it-all look and smirked warmly.

“Point taken. I just think it wouldn’t hurt to try. There’s someone I know; well I don’t know him. I’ve spoken to him loads of times. Keep bumping into him. He’s very sweet, very good looking. He’s asked me about you. I could…”

“No. No days, no blind dates, no double dates, no matchmaking of any kind. Who is he anyway?” Hermione snapped, well-meaning as it was, she didn’t appreciate the interference and yet was still curious.

“I don’t actually know his name come to think of it.”

“So, you are happy to set me up with a nameless stranger who may kidnap and murder me on a date?”

She laughed and so did Ginny, although she did have a point.

“He seems very nice, very, very, very good looking.”

“You said that already,” Hermione snorted. Ginny giggled.

“He is,” she said prodding each slightly slurred word into Hermione’s arm with her forefinger. “You could do a lot worse. He could free you from the evil clutches of Malfoy. You could get married, oh I must buy a hat. Any excuse to buy a hat, you know me.”

“I do not need to be rescued by some man. I…” she paused dramatically, “am a feminist. Now stop it. Besides, he isn’t _that_ bad. He’s better than not bad…” she trailed off.

“Ew you mean Malfoy, you can’t possibly like _him_. So arrogant, snooty and sneering. Isn’t he hard work?”

Hermione shrugged. There was nothing there she could deny. “He can be…demanding, I admit. He can also be decent. He defended me today and he didn’t have to.”

“Hmmm believe it when I see it. Now this boy would be…”

“No,” she laughed, hitting Ginny gently over the head with a cushion.

“So, what exactly are the perks of working for Lucius Malfoy I mean aside from the long hours, shocking wages and lack of appreciation?” she enquired as the laughter subsided.

“Well if you must know, he’s taking me to the Grand Winter Ball.”

That shut her up, but only for a second as she began to squeal with excitement.

“Arrrggghhhh, I can’t breathe, that is so exciting, I’m so jealous. So happy for you, but horribly, wickedly jealous. Can’t you sneak me in disguised as a handbag? No Weasley has ever been invited in the history of wizarding. I bet it’s so grand. I mean it’ll be full of some dodgy families, but the champagne and the fireworks, I’ve heard they are the biggest display of the year and it’s a freebie.”

“Yes, but it’s work, Ginny.”

“Don’t care, don’t care one bit. It’s still exciting. Come on, let’s celebrate together, properly.”

Ginny took Hermione’s hand and dragged her to her feet.

“One, two, three,” she counted, then they both jumped up and down hugging each other.

As it finally calmed down and they fell back into their seats. Ginny grinned wickedly, and playfully elbowed Hermione. “You might meet someone there.”

Hermione groaned.

“But seriously,” she asked with a trace of genuine concern, “why is he taking you? I mean what does he want from you?”

Hermione wished she knew.

“It’s just business stuff, that’s all,” she said.

Somewhere, repressed and buried, Hermione was beginning to wish it was more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I know you are out there, but you are all very quiet!  
I hope you are enjoying the story and if you are and need a bit more Lumione in your life, you may enjoy Into the Woods, by other fic. Chapter one is up now.
> 
> Slow burn and some cringe-worthy moments to come!

Hermione found herself sinking back into something soft. She was uncertain what it was, perhaps a bed or a sofa; Lucius was on top of her pressing her downwards, pinning her beneath him. She could feel his weight holding her down: his knee demanding her legs part for him; his mouth on hers, greedy and insistent. Each kiss grew warmer, wetter, more urgent and lustful and she moaned into his mouth for more. Heat pooled between her legs and the tips of his fingers slid wickedly over her inner thigh, tracing over the lace band at the top of her stocking.

“How very wicked of you, how very naughty indeed,” he rasped into her ear. “How you have teased and invited this. The predicament you find yourself in is entirely your fault.”

She could find no coherent words, as his fingers ascended higher, stroking her through dampened underwear as he bit and licked at Hermione’s neck. A deep, guttural moan escaped her lips. Unsure when she had even undressed, she found she had lost her blouse. His other hand now cupped and kneaded at her breast through the flimsy fabric of her bra, finding a swollen and taut nipple straining at the fabric and demanding attention. He brushed at it roughly with the pad of his thumb. Wordless murmurs and breathy moans were all she could give in reply.

Lucius yanked roughly at her panties, dragging them downward, leaving her bare and exposed. He looked down at her, a hopeless hot mess, squirming and writhing, and she could do nothing but silently plead for more; for his touch; for the release she knew he could provide so effortlessly. Of course, he made her wait, watching as she silently begged, powerless and needy. Lucius allowed her desperation to mount until she was barely conscious of the actions of her own body, her hips thrusting upward to urge him on.

“My how very needy, how desperate of you.” He smiled wickedly.

“Please, Lucius, please,” Hermione whined. “I need you to, I need it.”

Sighing, as if it were a chore, he finally relented. “Very well then.”

His fingers found her soaked and sensitive. She let out a sharp cry as he slid two fingers inside her aching sex. It was heaven, delightful, wicked bliss as he worked them in and out. Unable to help it, she bucked back wildly against his hand. Control was completely abandoned as she drew closer and closer to release, screaming his name as he made her pleasure soar; she was almost there.

Then nothing. It was gone.

Hermione awoke in a wild, panting and confused state, her brow dampened with a thin sheen of sweat. She thumped her fist against the pillow in a fit of frustration. Raged rapidly followed up the feeling of infuriation, and she huffed in anger at the now fading image of a smug and smirking Lucius Malfoy looking down on her shuddering and panting for his fingers.

She had slept badly the night before. After too much wine and giggling, Ginny had finally fallen asleep in her flat and Hermione had followed not long after. Her sleep had been broken and disturbed. She awoke that morning to find a note saying Ginny had left early for work and would see her later. Realising it was Saturday, Hermione decided to return to bed. Sleep regularly seemed to elude her lately. She found herself tossing and turning, restless but exhausted most nights. The opportunity to lie-in and a catch up on rest had been far too appealing to turn down. She had managed to fall asleep almost the instant her head had touched the pillow, it had been deep and sound, the only problem was a certain someone now invaded her dreams.

Letting out a deep sigh, she chastised her own subconscious and fevered imagination for conjuring up such visions and briefly considered a dreamless sleep potion. Hermione weighed up the risk. Those things were considered very unhealthy and came with so many alarming warnings, she questioned if it was really worth it. Instead, she got up with a determination to get on with her day, keep busy and try to do something to deal with this. She tried to shake it off and push it out of her mind as she washed and dressed. The image returned, the hazy recollection of a dream, but still enough to evoke _those_ feelings. The dull ache throbbed and gnawed at her, refusing to go away. She splashed cold water on her face to try and drive away the warmth from her cheeks.

Hermione needed a distraction or at least an outlet for all of the pent-up sexual frustration that bubbled barely contained beneath the surface. She reasoned it was natural. She was normal, healthy woman. It had been a while since she had been with anyone. Though Ron had tried his best, it was never the experience she had hoped for. With the exception of an enjoyable, but fleeting encounter while she was travelling, there had been nobody else since him. Perhaps Ginny was right, maybe she did need to get out there and find someone. Still, she shivered at the idea of an awful blind date with someone her friend barely knew, or any other man for that matter. 

She considered doing something active or sporting, wondering if some sort of vigorous exercise would banish those thoughts and exhaust her into a deep and undisturbed sleep that night. It sounded like a sensible idea, but days of poor sleep had caught up on her and she lacked the motivation or energy. Lurking around the flat on her own certainly wasn’t going to help.

Suddenly idea came to her. It was a naughty idea, but if her body was telling her she had needs, then perhaps she should indulge them and simultaneously banish the thought of a naked and eager Lucius Malfoy from her mind, replacing him with someone far less abhorrent. Hermione would need the assistance of a trustworthy and discreet friend, one with a book shop to be precise. Dressed and ready, Hermione pulled on her boots and cloak and decided to make her way to Diagon Alley, browse the shops and go and pester Essie Blott for a new reading material.

Finding herself, as she often did, staring in the most expensive robe shop, Hermione admired the most luxurious fabrics and finest stitching, all hand made by elves. Window shopping was a harmless pursuit. She knew at present such things were beyond her reach. Though she wasn’t badly paid for the type of work she did, she had rent to pay in the city. Not even the wizarding community were immune to the squeeze of London prices. She was a level-headed young woman, as a rule, and had squirreled money away each month, hoping her savings account at Gringotts would one day allow her to buy her own home. She knew there was nothing in that shop she could afford or justify the expense.

Even so, something caught her eye above everything else in the opulent display of finery. A shock of azure blue in the softest and most beautiful silk hung effortlessly on a moving mannequin. With slender shoestring straps, the dress scooped down at the back and swept to the floor. She had been staring at it for at least five minutes, almost daring herself to enquire about it and try it on, just to see how it looked and felt, knowing its price tag would be eye-watering and end her dreams of owning it. She imagined wearing it to the Winter Ball. Even making an optimistic estimate at the cost, she worked out quickly that even if she raided her savings, opted to forgo eating and dodged the rent for the next three months it would probably still be a stretch. The ball was a fortnight away. Hermione was resigned to either finding something more affordable or wearing a dress she already had in the wardrobe. Everything she owned seemed dreary in comparison, still it would have to do.

Sighing dreamily, she prepared herself to move on down the street and leave the dress behind. A familiar hiss in her ear stopped her in her tracks, wordlessly announcing the presence of Lucius Malfoy. 

The sound made her shudder. He always had; now it felt very different.

“It seems, we cannot avoid one another, even on Saturdays when the demands of commerce are lessened.”

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to exhale quietly, only to remember that the look on her face would be clearly reflected in the immaculately polished glass of the shop window. It ran through her mind that for once it would have been preferable to be stood in Knockturn Alley where the windows all had a decidedly grubbier sheen and might have made far less effective mirrors.

“Good afternoon,” she muttered, trying desperately not to think about anything she shouldn’t. Vivid flashbacks to the dream raced through her mind, his tongue slipping into her open mouth, the feel of it gliding over hers, she masculine scent of him, her own urgent need and the rasping sound of her breath, the feel of his fingers moving and working… She pushed it away as best she could and forced herself to open her eyes. Hermione observed him leaning in towards her ear in the reflection on the glass.

“Do you see anything you like?” Lucius whispered and casually swept her hair away from her neck.

“Very much,” she swallowed, clinging to her composure for dear life, “though sadly nothing I could afford.” It was a lame attempt at making light of the situation. It didn’t help and she half expected to mock her as a pauper.

“I do hope that isn’t a hint at a wage increase?” he said rather coldly.

“Not at all,” she lied, but knew she was presently in no state of mind to try to negotiate the terms of her employment.

“Perhaps,” he hissed again, his fingers curling around her shoulder, “you have earned a little more. A young witch should be free to indulge herself in life’s _pleasures _from time to time, don’t you think?”

He had drawled those words; they were thick with suggestion. He knew exactly what he was doing, and his fingers ghosted over the exposed column of her neck. Hermione breathed deeply, her head staring to spin, her mouth drying, as she watched his eyes glinting back at her in the glass.

Suddenly his tone shifted.

“Though I am certain someone of celebrity status such as yourself must have all manner of generous benefactors eager to support you. I hardly imagine you need to work for a living of you choose not to. The donations must have flooded in.”

Hermione felt a surge of indignant outrage at the suggestion.

“I intend to pay my own way in the world, if you don’t mind. I’m not a charity case and I would much rather earn a living. Not all of us rely on a generous inheritance.” She was cold and snappy, though the change in her mood seemed to barely register with Lucius.

“It is perhaps foolhardy not to use your status and connections, particularly considering your rather _humble_ beginnings.” His face wrinkled into that haughty look of disdain her wore so well. “However, there is perhaps something admirable in your reluctance to… ‘cash in’. I rather wish my own son had a little of your independent spirit.” A deep, wistful, look briefly flashed across his face, as if it was the most honest thing Lucius had ever said to her. She noticed. A dullness in his eyes, the slightest hint of sadness in his voice. He snapped out of it in a second. “Perhaps I shall consider reviewing your wages after all, Miss Granger, your work has been adequate, and you are not undeserving of some recognition.”

Under normal circumstances Hermione would have remarked that ‘adequate’ was hardly an accurate description or needled at him further. Once over she might have dug at him about his clearly fractured relationship with Draco. Instead, the brief flare of temper had quickly subsided and amongst the confused blur of hatred and attraction, she felt some thing new: she felt sorry for him. It was sympathy for the devil.

“I…don’t. I would appreciate it, thank you.”

She found herself struggling to say anymore.

“Your gratitude is something I will look forward to.”

The wicked smirk returned. Lucius laughed wickedly and before Hermione could say another word, he had vanished almost as suddenly as he appeared.

Releasing a long puff of air, Hermione pressed her palm flat against the glass to steady herself. There was a loud bang that pulled her back to her senses, as a haughty shop assistant appeared at the window, waving her away with a scowl. She left a slightly clammy handprint on the otherwise sparkling window and hurried on.

XXXX

As Lucius walked away, he had a wicked smirk on his face. Oh, what a dear little rabbit, caught in the bright lights, heart pounding at the very thought of the clever fox in pursuit. He could almost feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickling, felt the taut erotic tension in her shoulder under his fingers. Yes, he could sense the ache in her and it pleased him immensely. Still, he would be patient and choose his moment. It was still too soon.

Hermione Granger was a challenge. He wondered if that was the reason, he could set aside her Muggle upbringing and lack of breeding. Lucius wanted her. Nothing fuelled him more than the chase and he had no doubt the odds were swinging in his favour. He had always found her smug and brattish, arrogant without cause. He could not deny she was far more competent than he had imagined. Her affronted outrage sparked desire in him.

He tried not to dwell on his mention of Draco, they were barely even strangers to one another these days, not that they had ever been that close, he had always been his mother’s son. It occurred to him just how long it had been since they had last spoken. Hopeless, wasteful boy, always eager to raid the coffers of the family fortune yet took not the slightest bit of interest in running and preserving the business. Lucius believed he would come around eventually.

In the meantime, he would occupy himself with his quarry and that couldn’t be progressing any better.

______________

Hermione tumbled into the relative safety of Flourish and Blotts on the North Side. Lucius appearing behind her had thrown her. She imagined he rarely frequented the book shop. She had heard the library at Malfoy Manor was vast and extensive, packed with rare and priceless antique books, but still updated by regular order. Though she had been there, she had never seen much of the house. Certain she never wished to return there as long as she lived, she imagined she would never find out.

Essie Blott cheerily dotting around the children’s section surrounded by miniature witches and wizards, who darted around her legs. She was a petite and rather jovial witch, her long dark hair always wound around her head in tight braids, never seen without reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck.

“Hermione Granger!” she exclaimed, “my dear, you look ghastly! Come along, let’s get you put back together,” she insisted as she dragged Hermione along to a quieter corner of the shop. Stopping only to wave and bid farewell to her small friends, who chanted ‘goodbye Essie’ in unison, she bundled Hermione behind an obscure bookshelf.

“Whatever is wrong, you look white as a sheet?”

“Nothing, honestly I’m fine,”

“Well you don’t look fine. In fact, you look like you battled ten Death Eaters just to get here.” She folded her arms in the manner of a school mistress.

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Hermione muttered under her breath.

Essie narrowed her eyes. Her concern was genuine, and she was a kind and thoughtful soul.

“Honestly, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Well what can I do for you, you have always been one of my best and most discerning customers. I have new non-fiction, a fabulous book on Dragon Eggs. Neville Longbottom’s book on Healing Herbs is selling well. You went to school with him, didn’t you? It’s awfully popular. So, what will it be?”

Hermione smiled awkwardly and leant in close. It was best to get this over with quickly. “I want to buy… I want to buy…a book,” she whispered.

“Well funnily enough you’ve come to the right place, the right place since 1454, no less.” She was always chirpy. “What do you want? Adventure, no wait, biography? True crime? I heard you were working for Lucius Malfoy; you might even find his face in one of those.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed and threatened a scowl.

“I’m after a certain sort of book.”

Essie nodded, still none the wiser as to what Hermione wanted.

“I want something…adult.”

“Ooh, dipping into the restricted section of the school library, how thrilling.”

“Not _that_ kind of adult.”

Hermione was trying not to be short with her, but it was awkward enough as it was.

“Well what would you like then?”

Groaning, Hermione glanced around for anyone who may be listening, the coast seemed clear. “Something,” she took a last scan down the aisle, “racy.”

In a mix of shock and amusement, Essie giggled and smirked. “Oh, my goodness, well we don’t keep _those_ out on the shelves of course.” Disappointment was starting to kick in. “But,” she announced dramatically, “we do have a selection of that type of read that we store out of sight. May I ask what has sparked this sudden interest? Or more to the point, perhaps, who? You have bought a library’s worth of books from me and have never asked for anything of that nature. I am intrigued.” Essie was giddy and grinning. Hermione returned a slight glare.

“Come on then, they’re out the back, though I have no idea what we will find there, you understand.”

Hermione found herself leafing through a pile of salacious tomes in a box marked ‘_adult witches and wizards only’_. Most were enchanted or unlocked by special password to bar access to those who were not of age.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a nice, wholesome romance?” Essie said peering over Hermione’s shoulder at the contents of the box.

“I don’t know what I want to be honest. Any recommendations?”

“If you don’t know, I’m sure I don’t. There must be something in there tickles your fancy,” she giggled.

“You must have read some of them, had a look at least, you grew up in a bookshop.”

“I hardly grew up in a shop, but of course not, terrible things. That one’s a good one,” she said pointing at the book currently in her hand. Hermione’s eyebrow shot up. “So…so I’ve heard,” she added before finally shrugging her shoulders and failing to look innocent.

“Fine, I’ll take this one then,” she decided, settling on a black leather-bound volume with the blood-red title, ‘_The Pleasure of Pain’_. Rather than be seen purchasing it, Essie offered to let her settle up for it later and Hermione guiltily stuffed it into her bag out of sight before re-entering the busy shop floor.

“I’ll see you again soon,” Essie bellowed after her, as she was instantly swamped by customers, “I can’t wait for the review!” 

Making her way through the narrow doorway, into the packed street Hermione’s eyes fixed on the pavement. The item in her bag seemed far heavier than its actual weight. Her cheeks flushed.

Suddenly, she found herself thrown directly into the path of a solid figure. Colliding with the man with such a clatter, it sent her bag hurtling out of her hand. Dying silently, the world seemed to slip into slow motion, as her possessions, including the book spilled out onto the ground. Hermione doubted she had ever moved so fast as she scrambled frantically to grab it and drag it back under the cover of the thick cloth bag and spare her shame, mumbling apologies for her clumsiness.

It was too late. She snatched desperately for the book, but there were already masculine fingers curled around it, gripping it tightly and refusing to let go. Hermione instantly wished the stranger had been less of gentleman and hadn’t bothered to stop and help. She raised her eyes slowly, wishing with all of her being she could close them and just disapparate away to literally anywhere but here. Slowly and finally, her gaze met the stranger’s sparkling blue irises. They were unnerving. They were familiar. They were unmistakeably the eyes of Lucius Malfoy.

“We must stop bumping in to one another so frequently,” he grinned, loaded with pure evil, “I am beginning to think you are intentionally throwing yourself into my path.”

Hermione held her nerve and tried to subtly slide the book away and hold his gaze in the feeble hope he might not notice, it was too late. He glanced down at the book in his hand and this time showed his teeth as his wicked smile broadened.

“What a… liberated taste in literature you have. I may blush.”

Lucius Malfoy did not blush; of that she was absolutely certain. Hermione on the other hand, was rapidly turning a deep shade of crimson. Managing to snatch it away, she scooped up her remaining possessions and stuffed them into the bag, while he drew himself coolly to his feet and extended a hand to help her up His usual look of disdain had returned. It was vaguely comforting under these circumstances. She took his hand meekly and tried not to look him in the eye, as he aided her to her feet.

“I shall see you on Monday morning, if your reading has not… thoroughly exhausted you of course. Good day.”

With that he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, subscribing and especially your lovely comments. Please keep those coming. I love reading your thoughts and ideas.  
I know it's a slow burn, but trust me, it's starting to get warmer...
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Vin x

Hermione was beyond mortified. Yet again, she found herself rushing home to hide from anyone and everyone, silently cursing herself for taking that stupid book. She felt foolish for imagining a work of erotic fiction might be the solution to her new-found fixation with Lucius Malfoy. Curious as she was, the damn thing had been the source of enough embarrassment for one day and had hardly been the distracting remedy for the problem she might have hoped; if anything, it had only exasperated things further. That wicked, but oh so delicious smirk on his face, the twinkle of adulterated sin glinting in those blue eyes, it was a slow form of torture. Though she hardly dared look into those eyes, she had caught them briefly enough for the shame to burn. She wondered what he must think of her. Would he mention it on Monday? Would he taunt her and mock her? She couldn’t think about that now. She glanced at the half-consumed wine bottle and briefly considered glugging a large glass. Thinking better of it, she made tea. Even that made her think of him, the daily ritual of preparing his morning cup was now as much a part of her day as brushing her teeth or washing her face. She hated him. She _should_ hate him. Increasingly she was concluding that she didn’t hate him at all.

As the evening wore on, curiosity eventually got the better of Hermione. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to take the book out from its hiding place in her bag. It hummed and called from within. It was always going to draw her in. Finally, unable to resist a glass of wine either, she could ignore it no longer. Flicking through the contents, her cheeks already started to flush. It was detailed and explicit. She could only hope Lucius wasn’t familiar with the work and he had nothing but a sketchy idea of what was contained inside. At first, she didn’t quite know what to make of it all, the tying up, the spanking, the rules. There were seemingly endless rules and punishments. Rules, now Lucius would adore that.

“Shit, stop it, go away, get out of my head,” she muttered under her breath, battling the inevitable and inescapable thoughts of him.

Uncomfortable as she was to admit it, it all excited her. As she read, her breathing grew heavier with each page. She knew for certain it was starting to make her underwear grow damp and sticky. She squirmed in her seat. Numerous moving illustrations were scattered throughout its pages, they were unexpected and stirred feelings and urges within her. It was more than just a book. It was clearly charmed to bond with its reader. Hermione found her own name begin to appear woven into the text, filtering into phrases that had previously described _The Submissive_. As she read on, the images of the young protagonist became unmistakably her: her hair; her face; her body. Turning the page, the next illicit artwork formed. Initially she only registered her own image, then the revelation came. The previously unknown male took on a familiar form. A familiar, imposing figure with immaculate long blond hair; Lucius Malfoy stared back at her from the page, a sneering and displeased dominant holding a fine black riding crop, completely naked.

Hermione snapped the book shut in shock and flung it onto the sofa. She stared hard at it. Temptation rose within her, to look again, to pour over the image, to reach down and touch and silence the thumping ache that drummed within her. She allowed her fingers to trail over the cover, and down the pages of the closed book. She flicked it open with a fingertip, whipping her hand away as if it were burning. Still she peeked again. The image moved, she was tied, face down, Lucius administered a stroke to her behind with a sharp swish. This time she slammed it shut and let out an anguished howl.

“Stupid book, stupid, stupid book. It’s just a book Hermione. It’s not real. It doesn’t mean…”

She tried to coach and convince herself. She didn’t believe her own words. There was no escaping him, no respite at all. In her place of work, in her thoughts, in her dreams and now even in her books. Sighing she slumped down, uncertain if Monday couldn’t come soon enough, or if she hoped to be consumed by the nearest available ferocious beast, before work could come around again.

XXXX

Though it had seemed like an eternity away when Lucius had first invited her, the Winter Ball seemed to creep up on her far more quickly than she could have imagined. Hermione was thankful her employer had not raised the subject of the book. She was certain he had glanced at her with a raised eyebrow when he had arrived on Monday morning.

“I trust you had a pleasant weekend,” he said with little emotion.

“Good thank you,” she replied with her head down. She had rehearsed her retort had he mentioned it. She was ready to snap at him and tell him she had spent time with Ginny Weasley and remind him he had given her a far more dangerous and harmful work to read as an eleven-year-old girl. Hermione was almost disappointed he didn’t give her the opportunity to use the comeback. It was a timely reminder of just what Lucius Malfoy had done and tried to do, who he had served and what he was. She clung to it and it dulled the ache and managed to provide her with a restful Sunday, largely free of thoughts of him.

Monday morning had in fact been far more uneventful than she had anticipated. She had managed to get on with her tasks and maintain some distance from Lucius. Once or twice she was sure he had alluded to the book, as he overemphasised the word ‘reading’, but there was nothing concrete and could try and she tried to shrug it off as paranoia, it certainly wasn’t enough to fire back at him with the vicious character assassination she had prepared.

Hermione found it difficult to imagine Lucius Malfoy was easily shocked; there was certainly nothing she could do or say to create such a reaction. He always seemed so poised and unflappable. Perhaps it was so unimportant and irrelevant to him, he didn’t even remember. That thought came with its own set of thoughts and feelings, she ignored the twinge of disappointment the idea brought.

Thankful he had been out of the office more than usual, Hermione also found herself increasingly out and about running errands. The less time they were both there, the better. It made it easier not to think about him. Concentration had always been one of her talents, now at times it completely eluded her, and she found herself staring out of the window like the dreamy schoolgirl she never really was. Hermione made a conscious effort to keep a lid on the more wicked thoughts that floated in, that book had done little to ease the situation. Instead of promptly answering an owl, she found herself slipping off into the vivid fantasy of him slowly binding her wrists and ankles, spanking her bottom and telling her that she had been a terribly naughty girl. Each time she wandered dangerously down that track, Hermione tried to remind herself just who she was fantasising about and that if it was true he was a legilimens, she couldn’t be completely certain Lucius wasn’t able to read these thoughts, and finally, that she may not be in a job long enough to see the ball if she didn’t get things done.

Still, Hermione leapt at the chance of getting out of the office. It unclear if this was a sign of increased trust, or simply a tactic to give him some time to himself to conduct whatever nefarious business schemes she wasn’t privy to. It was mostly mundane, though she often wondered what was contained in those mysterious and magically sealed boxes he sent her to fetch from Borgin and Burke’s. That was never an enjoyable visit. The place gave her the creeps. It bothered her. She began to wonder if she was aiding and abetting him to do something terrible. Though her feelings had grown conflicted, she still didn’t trust him for a second. Doubt and suspicion played on her mind until she couldn’t repress the urge to pry and question him on the matter.

“Might I ask what exactly in in those boxes you send me to collect? After all I am carrying them down a public street.” She had demanded.

“You may not,” he sighed, not even raising his head.”

She huffed; arms folded across her chest.

“That will be all, Miss Granger.”

“I think I have a right to know if you are asking me to cart around something dangerous or, or…illegal.”

“Miss Granger, I have assured you I do not engage in illegal activities. I simply deal in unusual and rare magical objects. I am, however, surprised that your curious and, to be blunt, somewhat nosy nature hasn’t gotten the better of you and you haven’t rifled through their contents already. How very unlike you.” He appeared amused.

“Well, I…” she didn’t have an answer. She couldn’t bring herself to concede he was right. Only weeks ago, she would have torn into the box the second she had the opportunity, almost hoping to find something unspeakable and report him to the Ministry. Hermione could visualise a dramatic raid by the Aurors. She imagined Harry leading the charge. Nothing would have delighted her more than witnessing him being carted off to Azkaban in chains.

_Chains_… the very thought now made her shudder for very different reasons.

“Perhaps you find yourself more…compliant than you had imagined you were capable of. More…obedient.”

Convinced she had seen him smirk, Hermione should have been outraged and strike back with some sort of acidic comeback. She found her mouth drying and a knot forming at the way his tongue curled around the words.

“I’m just doing my job,” she snapped.

“And a satisfactory one at that. Now run along,” he waved his hand, ushering her out of the door.

She found herself doing as he asked, in part, but not entirely to remove herself from the situation.

“Good girl,” he purred.

Hermione gulped. It did things to her. The image of her restrained and being struck by him with a crop returned and she clattered out of the office as quickly as her legs would carry her.

XXXX

The day of the Grand Winter Ball had finally arrived. Ginny had spoken of little else. She was a good friend; there was no hint of envy or disappointment in her voice, though she must have felt it. Instead she had channelled her boundless energy into excitement and enthusiasm on Hermione’s behalf.

Venturing sheepishly into Lucius’ office and clearing her throat to announce her presence, Hermione made a request.

“I wondered; might I leave a little earlier than usual this afternoon?”

Quizzed by his eyes alone, he pressed her to explain.

“I have a few…personal matters to attend to before we leave this evening.”

“Hmm…” He studied her intently. “Important matters of appearance no doubt? I suppose working or otherwise, a young witch will always wish to look her best on such occasions. I shall allow it, though don’t expect to make a habit of it.”

Hermione thanked him rather meekly, then was struck by the fact that she was unlikely to see her bed before two in the morning. It would have been rather mean of him to object.

“I myself, have business to attend to and shall be out for the rest of the day. You are to return here at 6.30 sharp this evening. Do not be late,” he said as he picked up his cane and disappeared through the door.

Lucius was gone, and just as he had said there was no sign of him for the rest of the afternoon. There was no sign of anything. The business world was winding down, and anyone who Lucius dealt with would most likely be in attendance that night. Just as Hermione was about to give up on any activity at all and sneak away, there was a knock at the door. A nervous delivery boy waited. His anxious shuffling came as no surprise; Hermione reasoned he must have delivered to the office before and encountered Lucius in one of his less than accommodating moods.

He handed over an item in glossy, white wrapping, immaculately presented and expensive looking. There was a small note, addressed to Hermione. Carefully opening the crisp envelope, her jaw fell open in surprise as she read the words in a familiar, curled and elaborate script.

‘_A Gift. To appear presentable. LM’_.

With extra care, she gently unwrapped the contents package. Contained within layers of fine tissue paper, there it was. _The_ dress. Not just any dress, but the one she had been admiring in the shop window the day Lucius had appeared behind her. It was so totally unexpected, she wondered if it was a terrible mistake and the bill would follow it: a bill she could not pay. A kind gesture from Lucius Malfoy seemed highly unlikely; it was unbelievable in fact. Yet there it was. The words on the note at least appeared to be a little more in character.

It was a truly stunning garment, even more so on closer inspection. Hermione allowed her fingers to skim over the delicate silk fabric. It didn’t just look expensive, it felt it. The tiny, fine stiches were barely visible, she didn’t dare to imagine what it had cost. Fleetingly, she considered rejecting it. Was he up to something? Could it be seen as a bribe? It was just too lovely. She contented herself that she worked hard and deserved it, writing it off as a bonus, rather than a gift.

Painstakingly re-sealing the package, she scooped it up and carried it home, taking care to charm it as if it were a fragile piece of glass, lest it be knocked from her hands and trampled underfoot by the bustling, early evening crowd, all hurriedly making their way home from work.

Hermione had already poured over what she would wear a million times. Knowing she couldn’t really afford anything new that would fit the bill, she had instead raked through what she had. The pink, taffeta ball gown she had worn as a bridesmaid still fit her well enough, but it hardly projected the image of a professional, young woman she was trying to create. She knew Lucius would sneer at its cheery girliness and being honest, it was hardly to her taste. Trying on anything and everything, she dismissed others as too short, too plain and too frumpy. It left her one option. Though it wasn’t cheap, the only choice she had was a black, now slightly tired gown. That had been it. At least she imagined it would co-ordinate with Malfoy, who to the best of her knowledge never wore any other colour. The image it conjured was more of a funeral party, only enhanced by the dour and unimpressed look he would have on his face. It had depressed and amused her in equal measure, as she struggled to visualise her employer indulging in frivolity at all. That dull, old thing was long forgotten now.

As she tried it on, she squeezed her eyes shut, hardly daring to look. Hermione was so glad when she did. It was so much more rewarding than anything else she had tried on, the perfect fit, as if it were made for her and nobody else. Letting out a long sigh, she bit her lip. Was it really so terrible to get swept away with it all in a fit of giddy excitement? This opportunity may never come again, once in a lifetime perhaps, surely, she deserved to enjoy it. Lucius came to mind. It took a concerted effort to remind herself this was a business engagement. Glancing at the time, she hurried to ready herself, attending to hair and make-up with extra care. Wearing that dress, everything else seemed so upstaged now anyway and she kept it simple, pinning her hair up. Completing the finishing touches, she took a small, but pretty, beaded clutch bag Ginny had loaned her and threw on a plain, blue shawl for the journey.

Lucius was already waiting when she arrived. He was a stickler for precise punctuality as a rule, yet he was even earlier than Hermione. It took a moment for her to register he wasn’t dressed in black at all. Instead he wore an immaculate, silver grey suit with a deep, Slytherin green waistcoat that almost shone underneath. His ever-perfect hair was tied neatly with a black velvet ribbon. Lucius scanned her but gave nothing away.

“I take it the dress was suitable.”

Hermione didn’t answer. She stared at him. He looked so different, appealing, handsome. She loathed herself for thinking it.

“Your silence suggests you are not pleased.” His voice was sharp.

“No, no its…”

His expression became accusing.

“It’s wonderful, I adore it. Thank you so much. I do appreciate it, really and it is such a perfect fit. I don’t know how you did it. It’s the one I was admiring in the shop when I saw you.” She tried not to babble but did anyway.

“A fortuitous accident then.”

He smiled, though there was no evident warmth behind it.

Hermione was still busy trying not to stare at him.

“It is of course, in my interests, as much as yours, for you to appear presentable this evening. You understand?”

There was that word again, presentable. It was the most he was willing to give.

“Before we depart, I have an addition to your outfit.” Still unmoved by the whole thing, he snapped open a velvet-lined box. The contents glistened brightly.

“Is that…?”

“Indeed, it is.”

Hermione had heard stories about some of the Malfoy heirlooms, none more so than the Dark Heart Sapphire. It was a much coveted and priceless gem. It sparkled, even in the dim lamp light, its centre was almost black, though it faded out to a more brilliant blue at the edges. The enormous stone was set in what had to be diamonds and hung on a fine, gold chain.

“The dress is yours to keep. This is merely a loan. Misplace it at your peril.”

“Is it safe?”

“Safe? Whatever do you mean” His brow knotted and furrowed.

“I mean it’s not bewitched or hexed, or cursed?”

He sighed.

“Yes, Miss Granger, after an hour of wearing it you will become less of a mistrusting and suspicious windbag and turn into a charming young lady. Is that adequately hexed enough for you?”

“I just…had to ask.”

There was guilt, even if her suspicions were not without solid foundations and good cause.

“You are not obliged to wear it.”

Lucius clicked the box shut. He looked irritated.

A wave of disappointment washed over her.

“No, I…I would like to. It’s very pretty, I mean it’s beautiful.”

“I see your assessment of my character is as poor as ever. Nevertheless, it will accompany your outfit well and since you accompany me, I would much prefer it if you wore something of class and quality.”

A twirl of his finger gestured to her to turn. Shuffling round rather gracelessly, gripped by nerves and the mess of confused thoughts in her head, Hermione managed to comply. A barely contained shudder ran through her body as he confidently, but gently swept her hair over her shoulder, the same way he had in front of the shop window, revealing the back of her neck. Though it was the finest of contacts, Hermione stifled a tiny whimper at the feel of his fingertips on sensitive, rarely touched skin, as he nimbly closed the clasp. It seemed Lucius Malfoy possessed the ability to snatch her breath away by doing so little.

“There,” he said in a soft low tone as his forefinger trailed slowly down her spine, exposed in the backless dress. As he marked out his path with his fingertip down her back, her body hummed and tingled at the contact and she found herself fighting the urge to let out a moan. She was transfixed. Uncertainty about what the right response was filled her mind. Should she turn around and slap him in the face? Should she turn around and kiss him? In the end she did neither, instead she was rooted to the spot, motionless and powerless, mesmerised by the lightest of touches, her breathe held. It was excruciating, the sensation of him against her bare skin, so sensitive it bordered on painful. He stopped at the edge of the fabric, barely an inch from the top of her bottom. Pausing for a second, he traced tiny circles, each curving, looping motion making her stomach flip as if she were riding a rollercoaster. It forced the air out from her lungs and made her gasp out loud.

Hermione’s body was crying out for more. A familiar throb between her legs already drummed out its demands. The tightening knot in her stomach twisted and tugged. Her eyelids had grown heavy with lust; her head spun. Finally, he stopped and withdrew his touch. Relieved that her back was still turned, and he could not see the need in her eyes and her open mouth, she managed to mumble a ‘thank you’ as he draped the shawl back over her shoulders. There was something so surreal about it all, for a second she wondered if it was just another dream.

“Excellent,” he announced boldly and almost cheerfully, “then we shall depart. You know I abhor lateness.” Suddenly, without warning his tone and behaviour snapped back to normal, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

He held the door open and waited impatiently.

“Come along,” he ordered. Hermione managed to pull herself from her trance and tried to project the image of demure elegance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments, kudos and interest in this fic. Your thoughts are, as always welcome and adored, so if you get a moment, please let me know your thoughts, it's an eventful one!
> 
> If you are enjoying this, I have another Lumione fic called Into the Woods which you may also like!
> 
> Thanks again and enjoy!  
Vin xx

There was a chill in the night air. Outside an ornate, black, covered carriage drawn by a team of thestrals waited. Hermione stared at the mysterious, dark creatures; their breath visible like ethereal smoke in the darkness. Some people found them disturbing: not her. She couldn’t see them at school, not like Luna and Harry. The war had made them visible to her. Now she saw the graceful and serene creatures and they brought her comfort. Though they appeared only to those who had known death, they were not alarming or frightening, quite the opposite. She glanced at them and back at Lucius. Guilt struck her. She wondered what those who had sacrificed so much more would think of her boarding a coach and attending a social event with one of Voldemort’s entourage. Doubt crept in. Her hatred of him had faded. She had felt it; it was a violent and seething rage. Now she saw him through very different eyes despite the fact she wasn’t entirely convinced he had changed his ways.

“You see them, then,” Lucius said.

“Surely that can’t come as a surprise to you.”

“Then I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Hermione heard no hint of his usual arrogance or sarcasm. Instead there was a sombre sincerity in his voice. Not long ago she would have torn into him savagely, angrily reminding him that he had played a part in causing the sorrow than enabled her to see the thestrals in the first place. Those words did not come to her. Instead, she felt tears welling up and fought against them. It occurred to her she was surprised that Lucius could see them. It implied he had endured grief and Hermione had never considered that he had mourned or shed tears. She considered prying and asking him how he can come to see them. The look on his face deterred her. Now was neither the time nor the place. 

The coach driver, well wrapped up in black and wearing a top hat and a scarf that covered most of his face, dismounted and held the door open. Lucius offered his hand to help Hermione up the step. She took it, taken aback by the warmth of his fingers on hers, a striking contrast to the crisp cold air. Part of her expected him to be icy to the touch, cold blooded like the snake she had always imagined him to be. He guided her into the relative warmth of the carriage and silently directed her to take the seat opposite. It was awkward to try and avoid eye contact, if not impossible. With a thump of his cane on the roof, they set off into the night, clattering over the cobbled street.

The silence became uncomfortable. Hermione shuffled in her seat, running the fine tassels on her shawl between her thumb and forefinger, subconsciously attempting to self-soothe and calm herself. It was Lucius who spoke first

“It is a tedious journey by this manner of transportation, but other methods rather defeat the purpose of a grand entrance. By floo or apparating are far less time consuming, but so dreadfully low key. Tonight, is all about being seen, after all.” He paused to eye Hermione suspiciously. “I do hope you are not inclined towards travel sickness or have at least taken a preparation to prevent it.”

“Don’t worry. If I was going to throw up all over you, I’m sure it would have happened by now.”

Lucius snorted in response and she was uncertain if he was displeased or amused.

Hermione was huddled up; arms crossed tightly across her chest and she must have looked likely to be sick. It was becoming a distinct possibility. Though travel had never bothered her before the swell of nervous excitement rifted in her stomach. The whole thing felt illicit. She tried not to imagine his fingers running down her spine and repressed each sigh that tried to escape.

“Besides, this way we will at least have a chance to discuss protocol for this evening, though it should not take too long. Actually, I thought you might have brought a book ... to pass the time.” Lucius sucked in his cheeks, amused at himself.

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. Of all the times to bring it up, he chose now. She refused to allow him to see her embarrassment, though she was relieved the carriage was relatively dark and the reddening of her cheeks was concealed. Being reminded of that book was all she needed. It was became increasingly difficult not imagine what she had seen within its pages. The thought of him binding and punishing her flashed through her mind. There was a deep throbbing ache between her thighs, and she squirmed in her seat and pressed her legs together, trying to suppress it.

“Oh, come now, did you think I, Lucius Malfoy, would be outraged at your reading habits? I fear you underestimate me.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever underestimated you. Reviled, disliked, despised. Never underestimated.”

Hermione hoped that needling at him would serve as a reminder that though the book had presented her with a dark and seductive fantasy, they weren’t even friends, let alone anything more.

“From you, Miss Granger, I take that as a compliment.”

“Take from it what you like, Sir.”

“I wonder, if perhaps the nature of the occasion may lend itself to less formal forms of address. You may call me Lucius and I might call you Hermione, if you are agreeable.”

“Fine by me…Lucius.”

“As you wish, Hermione.”

It felt strange, both saying his name and hearing him use hers. His eyes bored into hers as he uttered it, slowly, almost over-annunciating each syllable. She found herself watching his mouth, the subtle flick of his tongue. Something stirred again within her; she did her best to quash it.

“What do you want me to do, tonight?”

She tried not to make it sound like a loaded question and emphasise she was there as an assistant and nothing more. Hermione knew it was largely for her own benefit, rather than his and her efforts weren’t entirely wasted. Lucius smirked a little.

“Enjoy the evening.”

“Yes, but you must have work you want me to do. People I should speak to, questions to ask.”

“No simply that. Be aware that all guests are asked to turn in their wands at the entrance. It will be returned to you at the end of the evening.”

“Why do I have to hand it in?”

“An old tradition, the host provides the magic for the evening. Nothing sinister, I promise you.”

“Do you hand yours in?”

“Of course, I am nothing, if not an advocate of tradition.”

“That’s alright then.”

“Don’t look so concerned. I find you are a very serious young woman. Be frivolous. If I require your assistance, I will ask for it. Smile, drink champagne, though I will be most displeased if you drunkenly embarrass yourself, and by association, me. Be your most delightful and charming self.”

“I’m not a complete idiot. Seriously, is that it?”

Hermione was incredulous.

“I never thought you were, though I had imagined holding that acidic tongue of yours and being charming while in my company, would present you with enough of a challenge.” Lucius smirked.

It forced a smile from her. “For once, you might have a point.”

“I’m sure you will manage it. Credit where it is due, Hermione. I did request that you made yourself look presentable and you have more than achieved it.”

His eyes subtly ran over her. Hermione felt her mouth dry.

“Are you saying, in a round about way, that I look nice.”

“Most definitely not.”

“Oh,” disappointment was written all over her face.

“Nice is not the word I would use. It’s a weak and inadequate word, used by those without the vocabulary to say what they mean.”

She licked her lips, subconsciously at first. Lucius watched intently. She did it again, this time knowingly.

“What word would you use?”

Their eyes remained fixed on each other. The air became thin and fizzed with tension. A silence fell while he seemed to consider his next words carefully.

The carriage came to a sudden, jolting halt.

“It appears we have reached our destination.”

“So, it would seem.”

Hermione’s voice was tinged with a hint of disappointment.

The grand, sprawling Cairfax estate, set in acres of immaculately kept grounds, was stunning. Hermione’s memory of Malfoy Manor was hazy and distant, but she imagined it wasn’t quite so spectacular as this. The vast stately home was gloriously decorated for the festivities. Thousands of tiny white lights peppered the tree-lined driveway. A majestic fountain was lit up in gold and white and the soft sound of strings drifted out from the house. A row of liveried footmen formed a guard of honour, offering drinks and delicate canapes to the arriving guests. It was ostentatious, luxurious and magnificent. Lucius looked completely at home.

Hermione was taken aback as he offered her his arm. She looked down and it and then back up at him. She was his guest, perhaps it was the done thing at such events. Other pairs were making their way she saw them all arm in arm. It seemed to like nothing out of the ordinary, though of the faces she recognised, they were all couples in every sense of the word.

He huffed and glanced down at his waiting, bent arm, urging her to do as he wished. Reluctantly she acquiesced. It felt both strange and comforting. Hermione was a confident young woman, neither shy nor timid. Still, this was unfamiliar territory and the scale of the event threatened to overwhelm her. Her arm slipped into the crook of his. Being so close to him reminded her of the difference in height, even in heels she was considerably shorter. Her stomach twisted into a knot. She told herself it was only nerves. Unconvinced by her own reasoning, Hermione fidgeted and adjusted her shawl to distract herself.

“Shall we?” he said impatiently.

“Yes, I’m ready now.”

Hermione took a deep breath and they made their way up the plush red carpet towards the entrance of the house. The interior did not disappoint. A huge crystal chandelier formed the centrepiece of a cavernous hall. Witches and wizards, all beautifully dressed, chatted and greeted friends; floating trays circulated the room, offering fresh drinks.

Each arriving guest was announced to the room. It appeared almost all had attended in pairs. Most announcements gained little reaction; not Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Granger. The sound of it, spoken aloud was unexpected, hearing her own name after his, Lucius Malfoy _and_ Hermione Granger. The volume of chatter and clanking of glasses noticeably quietened. People broke their conversations, turning to stare, their faces were ones of surprise, curiosity and she was certain some looked deeply displeased. Eyes shot from him to her, some lingered on the sparkling gem around Hermione’s neck. She had not given it any thought, but she knew with certainty that her ears would burn tonight. Summoning all the poise and grace she possessed, Hermione repressed the urge to challenge them and demand to know why they were staring at her. Of course, she understood completely. Just as they had when she had walked with him in the street. _The_ Hermione Granger, close friend of Harry Potter, and loyal Gryffindor was in the company of Lucius Malfoy, former associate of Lord Voldemort, Death eater and Pureblood Slytherin. She scanned the crowd, witches whispered but their eyes followed them. It dawned on her that they weren’t all speaking about her and their surprise she was with Lucius, but some looked with disgust at Lucius for being with her. The old ways and beliefs still lingered in some wizarding circles. Anger threatened to surge. Still, she remembered that one of the most disarming things she could do was remain calm, polite and charm her detractors. Determined, she did just that and smiled, greeting people and forcing them to look her in the eye and speak to her, daring them to ignore her and risk appearing rude in front of such a large audience.

Lucius pushed a glass of champagne into her hand.

“People are looking at us,” she whispered

“Hmm,” he said, “delicious isn’t it?” he replied nonchalantly.

“I don’t know about that.”

“What else did you expect. You and are a rather unlikely pair.”

“I suppose we are.”

“I have people to speak to. Go, mingle, enjoy yourself. I suspect you will not have a moment to yourself this evening.”

With that he disappeared. Hermione wandered. People she didn’t know stopped her, some subtle, others more obviously prying. A tall, slender witch admired the necklace.

“My goodness, lucky, lucky girl. I didn’t know Lucius was back on the market. Pity. I may have made myself available.”

“No, really, I’m just an employee. We’re not”

“Hm of course you’re not.”

The witch’s eyebrow raised in disbelief.

She wasn’t the only one. It took an age to get from one side of the room to the other. Her responses got more and more brief and to the point, as the incessant attention began to become irritating.

Hot and exhausted from fending off questions, she made her way down a corridor in search of the Ladies’. The long, oak panelled hallway was deserted.

“Oh, it’s you, the Granger girl,” came a slurring, drunken voice from behind her.

Hermione turned. Her smile faded quickly as she realised that it was Montague Pyke, the hideous business associate of Lucius’ who had treated her so shamefully in his offices.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“Well, witch, do you want a list? Mm.” He licked his lips. “Witch, bloody witch causing me nothing but bloody trouble. Cheeky, upstart Mudblood. Still we are quite alone now.”

Though unsteady on his feet, he advanced, and Hermione retreated further down the corridor.

“What are you even doing here, Pyke?”

“Me, doing here? Laughable. The arrogance of your sort. Nasty little witch. I will teach you a lesson you will never forget.”

Hermione shuffled back again.

“Get back. I swear I will do whatever it takes. Don’t think I won’t.”

“I think you won’t. No benevolent Lucius to take care of you. Don’t think he’ll marry you. You are just a diversion, silly, silly Mudblood witch. Do you think he cares for you? That thing around your neck for example, bought and paid for I can see. He’s a fool. You’re not worth it, though for free I might consider dirtying myself.”

“No, it’s not like that and why am I even justifying myself to you. It’s none of your business. Now what do you want? Whatever it is I guarantee you won’t get it from me.”

Pyke smirked and laughed. He staggered forward, unsteady on his feet, but determined, having driven her right back along the corridor. With her next step backwards, she found herself trapped, her back pressed against the wall.

“Nowhere to run now.”

He smirked. He was right. Pyke had her hemmed in at the end of the long hallway. The sound of the party seemed distant. She scrambled to find her wand in her handbag, only to find it was not there. She had completely forgotten she had handed it in.

“No wand, what a shame. I knew that little idea of mine to carry on with that custom would come in handy one of these days. I am clever.”

“What do you mean by your little idea?”

“I make the rules.”

“How do you make the rules? Full of your own self-importance, there’s a surprise.”

The aggressive tone in her voice concealed the very real fear that was seeping in. Hermione desperately scanned the empty corridor, trying to buy time to think or for someone else to appear.

“Well, naïve, ill-informed and ignorant little witch. I make the rules because you are in _my_ house.”

Hermione looked stunned. She hadn’t made a link between Pyke and Cairfax. From somewhere she dredged up the memory that Pyke had married a woman with far more wealth and status than he had.

“You mean your wife’s house? I think you are bought and paid for, a kept man? How shameful that must be for you. I’d want a refund if I was your wife.”

It angered him and he lunged towards her, clawing at her. She had no wand and no help. There was nothing for it. Hermione raised her right knee sharply and drove it into his groin. Pyke groaned and doubled over. Pushing past him, she hurriedly made her way down the corridor.

“Vile Mudblood scum, in my house. You will pay.”

Hermione did not look back. Her head spun and her heart pounded. Back in the noise and bustle of the crowd she at least felt safe. Taking deep breaths, she tried to pull herself together. Close to tears she drew herself up to her full height, smoothed down her dress and forced herself to smile. Perhaps she would be escorted out of the house at any moment. She doubted it. Pyke would have a lot of explaining to do. She would deal with him later. For now, the rage within her started to subside.

Hermione moved on to the ballroom; it was even grander and more extravagant. The winter theme came out in huge ice sculptures, real snow falling in an area where a Daily Prophet photographer snapped celebrity guests and a giant Christmas tree that rose almost the full height of the vaulting ceiling. The idea that it belonged to Montague Pyke had taken the shine off it all. A figure suddenly appeared beside her: Lucius. She hadn’t seen him for above an hour.

“Do you dance?” he asked.

“I…Lucius.” There was a sense of relief that she was not alone. Though she was strong and brave, the incident had rattled her. Hermione neither wanted to speak about what had happened with Pyke or show weakness in front of Malfoy.

“Are you quite well?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

He looked dubious.

“I’m honestly fine.”

“Well then, do you dance?”

“Are you asking me?”

“No, Hermione I am asking the ice sculpture in the corner, you are simply positioned between us.”

“Then, I suppose. I learnt the basics at school.” The thought of the such close proximity and close contact suddenly made her nervous.

“You are making awfully hard work of a very simple enquiry. For clarity, would you like to dance with me, Hermione?”

Lucius grew impatient. Still, she considered it for a moment. Hermione found herself unable to refuse. 

“Alright then.”

Lucius offered his hand and led her onto the dance floor, taking hold, his palm flat against her back. Hermione allowed her fingers to curl over his shoulder and he took her other hand in his. He moved gracefully, leading firmly.

“Are you enjoying the evening?”

“It’s certainly been memorable so far.”

“Are you?”

“I find elements of it appealing.”

“Any parts in particular?”

“Why Hermione Granger, I do believe you are being flirtatious.”

“Absolutely not. You’re my employer. That would be really inappropriate.”

Hermione counted her drinks. She should still be very much in control of herself.

“Then tell me,” he whispered, low and soft into her ear. “How do you find it, being in my employ?”

“Surprising. Surprising and far more tolerable than I expected to be honest. I do wonder how long it will last,” she said, trying to focus on the music and steps and ignore the tingling sensations that radiated out from the small of her back where his hand gently rested.

“How so?”

“We are so very different. I don’t really know why you offered me the job. I don’t know why I took it. We are meant to hate each other. We probably should hate each other. I don’t imagine you think much of me.” she said honestly.

“You are here, are you not? Does that not give you some indicator of my assessment?”

“I’m not doing much tonight. Not much of a job anyway.”

Lucius danced well. Hermione found herself lost in it; the rest of the room no longer existed; earlier unpleasantness was temporarily forgotten.

“Oh, you are doing a wonderful job,” he said with surprising conviction.

Hermione managed to smile. “It wouldn’t hurt if you told me that more often.” The intention was light, the response was not.

Lucius further lowered his voice and moved in closer, now fully pressed against her. Her breath hitched. “Do you thrive on praise?”

“I…I don’t know,” she stumbled.

“You do seem to crave positive reinforcement and reassurances that you have been…” he paused with purpose, gazing into her eyes intently, “a very, _very_ good girl.”

His thumb brushed lightly against the bare skin of her back, retracing the path he had found there earlier. A soft sigh escaped her lips. Those words from his mouth were already turning Hermione to liquid, an invisible cord tugged hard from her stomach directly into her core. She had no idea how to answer, but he filled the silence, revelling in her barely concealed response.

“And what about when you make errors? Am I to…correct you for those? Do you require discipline?” His grip on her hand tightened and he pressed into her back, firm enough that she felt it, not quite enough to hurt. It only served to heighten the hot ache. She willed him to squeeze harder. “Is that how it should be?” He pulled her closer, her body moulded to his. She could have pulled away, instead she leant into him, inhaling the masculine, clean scent of him.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t…” her breath was heavy and audible now, even the music seemed distant and muffled.

“Oh, I think you do, you know perfectly well.”

Part of Hermione ached to scream that was exactly what she wanted; the words hovered dangerously on her lips. The music came to an end and shattered the spell.

Lucius smirked and laughed wickedly. “Well it seems, you know how to dance. At a basic level at least. Socialise as you wish. This has been an enjoyable diversion, but I am duty bound to have a quiet word the host.” Hermione could not hide the horror on her face at the thought of that odious, lecherous little man.

“I’ve already been acquainted with him. I think I left a lasting impression.”

“I’m certain you did.”

Lucius gave her a knowing look. News travelled fast, though she had no idea how he knew about the incident, but she was sure he was implying he did. Hermione considered saying something, though she was uncertain what or how he would react. By the time she had thought about it, he had already made his way off through the crowd, not stopping to look back. Pressing herself to regain composure, she made her way to a flowing cascade of bright red punch, being served in crystal cut glasses at the side of the room. Hermione filled a glass and downed the drink, hoping it might still her shaking hand and dull the urgent ache in her dampened underwear. She contemplated drinking another and remembered the remark about drunken embarrassment. Hermione had always thought she would enjoy enraging and irritating Lucius. The overwhelming desire to please him shocked and horrified her. She looked at the punch again.

She sensed she was being watched. She turned hopefully.

“Ron,” she said with surprise.

“Hermione,” he replied shuffling awkwardly, his eyes down.

“I wasn’t really expecting to see you here, to be honest.”

“Me neither.” There was a difficult silence. She knew exactly what he wanted to say, but she wasn’t going to make it that easy for him. It wasn’t vindictive on her part, but she was well aware he had a point to make. Hermione knew Ron far too well not to recognise the hunch in his shoulders and his insistent focus on his shoes meant he was about to say something he knew wouldn’t please her much. “I saw you,” came finally. “With him. With Malfoy. Dancing. I can’t believe you’re with him.”

“I’m not _with_ him, Ron. I just work for him. He’s not as terrible as you think. I honestly think he’s changed.”

Hermione sighed. There was the truth, a lie and the uncertain limbo in between. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. Lucius was holding court. Three or four pretentious and snobby looking younger men hung on his every word, yet he was watching her. He wasn’t even attempting to conceal it. The look in his eye made her shudder with excitement and ache with need.

“I bet he hasn’t. He won’t change, ever. I can’t believe you are doing this. What’s Harry going to say about it.”

“Harry’s fine about it,” she mumbled, distracted.

“I mean I know we’re not together anymore, Hermione. I thought, you know, one day, maybe. I mean Lucius Malfoy though. Why him? You don’t even like him. You hate him. I joined SPEW for you. I bet he wouldn’t do that. In fact, I know he wouldn’t. He’s, you know what he is and…Hermione? Are you even listening to me?”

She had tuned out, her eyes still fixed on Lucius’ as they burned and bored into her, that seemed to be bewitching and undressing her across the room. Her breath caught in her throat; her heart was racing again.

“Ronny, darling,” came a crowing female voice she recognised.

Hermione snapped out of her trance. Pansy Parkinson stood, virtually draped over Ron. She wore a sleek, fitted black dress with a shock of bright red lipstick and a string of pearls. Hermione would have accused her of stealing her entire look from Audrey Hepburn, right down to the black cigarette holder. Knowing Pansy had been brought up entirely immersed in the wizarding world, she reasoned she would probably respond to the remark with a confused, blank stare. It was a fight not to look bemused at the identity of Ron’s companion.

“Pansy,” she grinned. “I didn’t know you and _Ronny darling_ were an item. How long have you two been seeing each other?” Hermione looked amused; Ron looked mortified.

“Well we’re not seeing each other, so to speak.” Ron squirmed.

“Oh, our love is a new love, but one that burns brightly.”

Hermione repressed as snigger as Pansy pawed at Ron who had the look of a rabbit in the headlights.

“That reminds me,” Pansy snapped, “I sent you an owl and never did hear a thing back. If I didn’t know better, I would feel utterly snubbed. Did the silly owl does not deliver it?”

“Oh Yes. I got it.”

Pansy pouted and curled herself further around Ron.

“I’ve just been really, _really_ busy.” Hermione used a tone so condescending Lucius would have been impressed. The urge to glance over her shoulder and search the crowd for him again came and went.

“Well, you and Lucius do seem to be getting on famously.” It was Pansy who smirked now. Ron still hung like a limp lettuce, unsure where to look or what to do.

Right on cue, she felt a hand snake around her waist. She didn’t have to turn to know it was Lucius.

“How nice to see you, Miss Parkinson,” he nodded and smiled.

“Lucius, dear Lucius,” Pansy virtually climbed over Hermione to administer over-the-top air kisses to each side.

“And Weasley.” Lucius’ lip curled in disgust. “What an…interesting couple you make.”

“Malfoy,” Ron grunted.

“Isn’t Ronny just wonderful, Lucius?”

“Most dynamic and enthralling. I can see he must be a scintillating conversationalist.”

Hermione held in a giggle. It was cruel, but Lucius had a point. Even Ron didn’t miss her amusement. It riled him.

“If you hurt her, Malfoy. If you hurt one hair on her head, I swear I will, I will. I will.”

“I’m certain that you _will_ remember exactly what you will do at some point next Thursday. Perhaps you might wish to send it by owl. I’m afraid the evening is drawing to a close and I have a carriage waiting to depart.”

Ron opened his mouth, yet again lost for a suitable retort. Hermione felt sorry for him.

“I must bid you good night, Miss Parkinson.”

“Au revoir,” she said chirpily.

“Come along, Hermione,” Lucius said, steering her away at her waist.

“Goodbye Ron,” Hermione said, wracked with guilt.

He nodded back, clearly wounded.

Lucius led her through the now thinning crowds. It was late and the evening was drawing to a close. Still, it was busy enough for him to slip in front of her, taking her hand and pulling her along. He strode quickly, Hermione struggling to keep up. She was relieved when he finally stopped as they stepped outside.

“What’s the hurry?” she puffed.

“I thought you may wish to watch the fireworks, before we depart,” he said.

The night air was freezing, and Hermione’s shawl had not been summoned from the cloak room. Her shivers did not go unnoticed. Without a word, Lucius removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She opened her mouth to speak but he shushed her and before she could utter a word the display had started. It was a dazzling light show, firecrackers formed into multi-coloured dragons, and the crowd oohed and ahhed with every whizz and bang. The highlight was a glittering Christmas tree that exploded into a flurry of real snow. Try as she might to remain focused on the show in the sky above, Hermione caught herself glancing his way more than once, observing his strong profile, wilfully chewing at her lip. Without even being aware of it, she had tilted her head and leant on his shoulder. Lucius did nothing to move her away, instead curling an arm around her shoulder. As the last flakes fell, the evening drew to a close. Sighing, she was just as confused as ever. Lucius tempted her. The gnawing ache that had come and gone since his fingertips had first danced lightly over the back of her neck at the start of the evening was now incessant.

The ride home was relatively quiet. Hermione was exhausted, the carriage rocked and bobbed gently and rhythmically, and it was all she could do to keep her head up. The nightmarish vision of nodding off to sleep and being awoken by an irritated Lucius complaining she had drooled on his shoulder and snored was enough to keep her conscious. This time he had insisted Hermione sat beside him. She did without protest.

“I am aware there was an incident with Pyke.”

Hermione sat bolt upright, fully awake and ready for a fight.

“Oh. Well if you are going to have a go at me don’t even bother because…”

“Hermione. I am absolutely livid.”

“So, you are going to defend that horrible, vile, disgusting…”

“No. I am not.”

He stopped her mid-sentence.

“You’re not. Then what?”

“I am livid I was not present to witness your assault myself.”

“Oh,” she said in surprise.

“I trust it was satisfying.”

“Very,” she smiled.

“I must say I found myself resorting to a similar method of correction in his offices quite recently.”

Hermione smirked.

“Though I sincerely hope I am never a recipient of your wandless wrath.”

The carriage drew up outside her apartment.

“Your lodgings,” he said, insisting on seeing her right to the door. “At this late hour it would be ungentlemanly of me not to make certain you are returned safely. Who knows what predators may lurk in darkened alleys?” Suspecting there were none more dangerous than the one in front of her, Hermione said nothing.

“This is me,” she said at the doorway, the light from within falling on his face.

“I must thank you, for a lovely evening.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Very slowly and deliberately he kissed it, first with a soft, barely-there brush of his lips. Instead of letting it go, he held on to it. He watched her intently as the soft flicker of his tongue over her knuckles stole her breath away.

“Goodnight,” he said seductively, His eyes sparkled as he gazed into Hermione’s, her hand still hanging limply in his. Her knees were weak and threatened to buckle, her heart pounded in her chest.

Hermione swallowed hard, instinctively raising a hand to her neck, aware of what still hung there. Perhaps he would come in to collect the necklace, perhaps he would come in and…her imagination was starting to run wild.

“Don’t worry about that, you may return it tomorrow. Sleep well, rabbit.”

He slipped away, back into the darkness.

“Lucius, wait,” she called after him, but the sound of thestral hooves told her he had already departed.

“Goodnight,” she sighed deeply.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little weekend treat, you have all been very patient, have a bit of smut on me!  
Please be aware, there are BDSM themes in the story. They aren't for everyone, but if this is your cup of tea, drink up because there's quite a bit of it from here on out!
> 
> I know some of you are reluctant to review the naughty stuff, but it would be lovely to hear your thoughts.

Hermione awoke with a groan and a slightly sore head, after what felt like no more than a few minutes of sleep. She cursed the alarm clock that had torn her from a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep. Exhaustion had forced her eyes closed within seconds of her head hitting the pillow and it seemed like no time at all had passed since then. A time tuner, to slip back a couple of hours and sink back into her bed would have been far too tempting. Why they couldn’t hold these events at the weekend was beyond her, though it was probably less of an issue to most of the obscenely wealthy attendees, who could rise as they wished and enjoy a leisurely brunch prepared by someone else. Hermione was still just an assistant and would have to live by the clock. Downing a popular and trusted hangover cure and wake up potion, she reluctantly readied herself for work. The day ahead felt like a crashing come down. Last night had been intriguing, confusing, and eventful.

She tried not to think about Lucius. The things he had whispered to her as they danced echoed back. Did he only mean to tease and torment her? He had clearly not forgotten the book he had handed back over to her with a grin of pure evil. He had even brought it up. Perhaps that was all it was, a way to antagonise her. Yet, he had been charming and sided with her against Pyke, as much as confessing he had defended her at the offices. She puffed out a long slow breath as she applied some make up in the mirror, questioning her own reflection.

“What are you doing, Hermione? What are you thinking?” Her own blank expression looked back at her. She didn’t have an answer.

Then there was Ron. Good Gods, Ron and Pansy Parkinson of all people. No wonder she was fishing about the nature of Hermione’s relationship with Lucius, just for very different reasons to the ones she had imagined. They made an odd couple. Haughty pretentious Slytherin and kind-hearted Gryffindor. She tried not to dwell on that idea too much and applied a pink streak of blusher to each cheek in an attempt to manufacture a healthy glow. Lucius had been a cruel and sarcastic towards her former-boyfriend and she’d said and done nothing to defend him. She rationalised that Ron seemed to have finally made some effort to move on. There was still a trace of guilt.

She looked at the dresser and remembered she had to return the necklace. It was a stunning and it was unlikely she would ever wear anything so valuable again. Hermione told herself it was safest around her neck and slipped it back on. Pyke’s awful words about being bought and paid for threatened to haunt her thoughts. Hermione had never been particularly excited or seduced by extravagant things or expensive gifts. Now she felt like a magpie, clinging on to a shiny trinket that had caught her eye. With determination, she drove those thoughts away. It was nonsense. There was nothing between them, Hermione was most definitely not for sale and Lucius Malfoy was not trying to buy her.

The morning was slow, beginning with her dragging her feet as she walked to work. The business circles she usually dealt with had evidently not yet woken up or returned to their desks. She found her idle fingers straying to the necklace, feeling the smoothness of the gem, measuring its weight and brushing at the fine gold of the chain. She tried not to think about him, in the room next door, putting it on for her, the contact of his fingers on her skin. She sighed deeply. It was making her ache. Finally, Lucius arrived, much later than usual, though cool and unflustered. Hermione sprang up from her desk, excited to see him and smiled warmly.

“Good morning, Luc… Sir,” she corrected but remained cheery. She was unable to hide her delight at his presence from showing on her face. His reaction was frosty.

“You have something to return, I believe,” he said coldly holding out the open box. He stared hard at it, still hanging around her neck.

“Yes of course,” she said undoing the clasp and placing in gently back in its box. “It’s all in one piece, you can trust that no exchanges for a fake have taken place,” she laughed awkwardly, and he showed no hint of amusement in return.

He gave the gem a cursory inspection and then snapped the box shut again, tucking it into his pocket.

“I will be returning it to my safe Gringotts, and I have some other matters to attend to.”

It was as if last night didn’t happen. As if they hadn’t danced and he hadn’t whispered thinly veiled obscenities into her ear, as if he hadn’t given Hermione his jacket to keep her warm or left a lingering kiss on the back of her hand that she could still feel now if she thought hard enough about it. Disappointment stung at her.

Forcing herself to switch back into work mode, Hermione tried to push it aside and got on with the few tasks on her list until lunch. With Lucius nowhere to be seen she headed out to meet Ginny, for the promised and much anticipated dissection of yesterday evening.

“Tell, tell all, leave no detail undisclosed,” she squealed.

“It was wonderful, really.”

She knew Hermione all too well. “You could sound a bit more enthusiastic. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sorry, I’m exhausted, it was a late night.”

Ginny studied her face and accepted the reason Hermione offered, though she didn’t seem entirely convinced. Pulling out the latest copy of The Daily Prophet images from last night were splashed across a four-page spread.

“Argh, look you’re in, you made it in. That’s you. What are you wearing? What happened to the black? That looks expensive, lovely, but really expensive.”

“Lucius gave it to me.” Ginny’s mouth fell open and Hermione looked downward, embarrassed. “To wear for the ball, to look the part,” she quickly added.

“And Gods above, what is _that_ round your neck? Is that…?”

“Just a loan. I don’t get to keep it.”

“What’s wrong with Malfoy? I mean he’s being uncharacteristically nice. What does he want?”

Hermione wished she knew.

“I saw Ron.”

Even discussing Ginny’s brother seemed less intrusive and awkward. It wasn’t an ideal change of subject, but Hermione was certain she didn’t want to delve any deeper into Lucius Malfoy’s motivations.

“Listen, Hermione. I honestly didn’t know he was going to be there. It seemed like a last-minute thing. How did it go?”

“It was awkward, cringe-worthy really. He thinks I’m having a torrid affair with Lucius Malfoy now. Though he seems to have moved on in a surprising direction.”

“You mean Pansy?”

“Did not see that one coming.”

“I don’t think anyone did. He’s never even mentioned her before. I mean I don’t expect my brother to tell me the ins and outs of his love life, but I would have thought he’d have mentioned her at least once. I did wonder why she was so nice to me the other day.”

“And she sent that owl. I just thought she was being a nosy cow.”

Ginny smirked and repressed a giggle.

“I have no idea how those two got together though.” Hermione was fishing. She knew it was hypocritical in light of her scathing assessment of Pansy, but curiosity rather than jealousy was driving her to find out. Hermione despised not knowing something.

“Out of the blue. I don’t know much, but apparently, she invited him, offered him the ticket and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Virtually begged, was how Ron put it. I can’t help but think they are a very weird couple. It’s not like they have a single thing in common.”

“No, but I suppose he’s a bit more acceptable than me in those circles.”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione thought about Pyke. Mudblood was at least an insult nobody could sling at Ron. She considered telling Ginny about what happened and thought better of it. Her friend would only be upset and outraged and want them to storm down to his offices and play merry hell. Hermione’s thoughts returned to Ron.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

Ginny looked doubtful.

“You know she calls him _Ronny darling_.”

Ginny burst into fits of laughter.

“Ronny darling. Oh my god. That is priceless. I can’t wait to drop that one in at the next family dinner.”

Hermione missed her time with the Weasleys far more than she missed Ron. Though she knew she was always welcome, it seemed strange and as if she no longer belonged, after all it was Ron’s family and his childhood home. She had been deliberately avoiding him since the split.

“So, did Ron know I was going?” she asked, still prodding for information.

Ginny nodded. “Sorry, he just asks and nags at me all the time. I’m between a rock and a hard place. I didn’t think it was a secret. It’s not like there’s anything going on.”

“There really isn’t. I’m sick of telling people that.” Hermione was short and snappy. She immediately felt bad. “Sorry, Ginny. It’s just I am tired of every conversation I have being all about Lucius bloody Malfoy. He’s _just_ my boss.”

Ginny couldn’t help but feel Hermione was protesting a little too much but tried to lighten the tone. “Did you dance? Please say you danced.”

“I did dance.”

“With some gorgeous, eligible young man and you are now madly in love? Can I buy myself a hat yet? Please just say yes and be done with it.”

Ginny was growing more excitable by the second.

“No, no weddings on the horizon I’m afraid.”

“Then who? Anyone juicy?”

“Only Lucius,” Hermione said focusing firmly on her drink. Somehow, they had come back around to him.

“Ew. How disappointing, but it’s Lucius now. You and Malfoy do look rather cosy in that picture, you know. Almost intimate.”

Though Hermione knew she didn’t mean that, it made her feel uneasy and she began to wonder if other people had seen it like that too. People at the ball certainly did. Now their faces were splashed all over the Daily Prophet. Ron had clearly believed it was possible.

“For the last time, it’s not like that.”

Ginny sensed Hermione was getting riled and flicked back through the Prophet, pointing at people they knew and passing comment on every dress, shoe and handbag. Hermione found her eyes continuously drawn back to the shot of her and Lucius. It was distracting.

Time was up. They said their goodbyes and promised to pour over every detail at the weekend. Perhaps not every detail, Hermione thought to herself.

Back at the office Hermione’s early morning fuzzy head had cleared, only to find herself draped in another fog. Lucius made no sense to her. Pleasant, warm even, but only for a second and then back to a sheet of ice without any notice or warning. As she left a neat pile of finished paperwork on his desk, she couldn’t help but think about what he had said as they danced. She had tried to blot it out since she first woke up. The way the words ‘good girl’ sounded coming from his mouth, the way he had hinted at correcting her. Sighing, the images from her book filled her head again. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the thought of Lucius’ fingers raking into her hair, tugging hard at it, kissing her roughly, then spanking her. Fuck, the idea could drive her wild. Lucius Malfoy was driving her wild.

An idle curiosity had spiralled into a want, a need even. It felt so completely real, she could almost feel the sting of his hand against her sting. Heat pooled between her thighs and her cunt twitched in anticipation of those long, elegant fingers working into her underwear. Hermione ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the desk, leaning into it, pressing herself against it to try and silence the insistent throb.

“I heard that,” came Lucius’ booming voice from behind her.

Hermione was frozen and gulped hard. She hadn’t even heard him come back in, he must have entered so quietly, crept in even; she was quite certain she had said nothing aloud.

“I didn’t say anything,” Hermione offered hopefully.

“You didn’t have to. If you will insist on projecting your thoughts so vocally, there is little I can do. I try not to pry.”

Now her cheeks were burning. A few seconds later and she would have been back in the safety of her own office, behind a door and even if he could read her thoughts, she would have been spared the eye contact and proximity. Ignorance would have been bliss compared to this. Hermione was caught in the middle of the room, in no man’s land with no immediate refuge, she had no choice but to look at him.

“Do you hear all of my thoughts?”

“No, Miss Granger. As I said I try not to snoop into your personal mental space, however when you are determined to scream so loudly, I have little choice.”

Hermione swallowed. “I was just. It was nothing. I don’t normally think that… I mean. I don’t know why I was thinking that.” She was fighting for words and trying to explain it away. She had nothing.

“Oh, but you do, Hermione. You know only too well.”

“I…I…I don’t know what to say.”

Hermione wondered should she apologise or reprimand him for the invasion of privacy. Were those thoughts really so strong her could not ignore them? Had he heard them before and known? She was a hot mess of lust, confusion and embarrassment. Lucius did not relent.

“Is that truly what you desire?” he asked in a low tone.

Hermione’s heart pounded. How did she answer that? The exit was blocked, there was no easy way to run and hide, short of barging past him. Instead her only means of manoeuvre was backward and she found herself edging slowly towards his desk, as if there was sanctuary to be found if she made it to the furniture. She wanted to hide beneath the desk and hope he couldn’t see her. Lucius advanced a step. Eyes wide, she still had no answer, but inched further back until her bottom hit the hard edge of the mahogany desk behind her. Though grateful for its support to keep her on her feet, it also meant she had nowhere else to go. Lucius stepped forward again. He was now in her personal space, his eyes alive and sparkling with intent, as they bored deep into hers. Much as it would have been a relief to look away, he held her gaze; Hermione simply couldn’t. She let out a soft gasp as he completely closed the gap between them, and his body pressed firmly against hers. Brushing away a loose strand of hair, he stroked her cheek softly.

“Is _this_ what you desire?” he said as he pushed harder against her. “I think it is.”

She was barely able to sigh as he grazed his finger over her lips, and unable to fight the urge to take it into her mouth and suck gently, running her tongue over the soft pad. Panting softly, her head swam with now untamed lust as he withdrew it.

“How awfully needy of you,” he rasped as he traced a line over Hermione’s chin, down her neck, between her breasts and over her stomach through the thin, silky fabric of her blouse, before settling it on her skirt, just below the waist band at the line of underwear. He pressed there lightly.

“Tell me, does it ache _here_?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Does it ache badly, my skittish little rabbit?”

Lucius was nodding, willing her to agree. She could only mirror it.

“Yes, yes, I know,” he soothed. “But tell me, what does it ache for?”

“You.”

It burst out of her. Hermione couldn’t contain it. That feeling, those urges and repressed desires that had simmered and bubbled within her for weeks surged to the surface. Lucius smiled back at her wickedly, baring his teeth.

“Then perhaps,” he whispered leaning in close.

“You,” he said, and his lips brushed over hers.

“Shall.” She sighed, her lips parting and begging for more.

“Have.” His tongue slid teasingly into her mouth for a second before he withdrew it and she craved for its return.

“Your way.”

Lucius’ hands knotted into Hermione’s hair and he tilted her head, bending his towards her as he kissed her deeply and passionately. His tongue greedily and aggressively claimed her mouth and she melted into his body. It lasted for no more than a few seconds before he cruelly snatched it away.

“Now, Rabbit, you must earn reward. Do we understand each other?”

“I think so,” she mumbled.

“You must…prove your devotion,” his eyes flickered with excitement. “You must be mastered before you can be conquered. Can you submit, Rabbit? Do you wish to?”

Closing her eyes, Hermione felt like her head might explode. Rational thought, logic and reason were all lost in the constant thumping ache between her legs that forced a weak ‘yes’ from her lips.

“What’s that, my dear?”

“Yes,” she pushed out, this time with greater conviction.

Lucius shook his head with a disappointed look on his face.

“Now you must learn the rules and you have much to learn. Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir,” she ventured.

He shook his head again and tutted. “These are not workplace pleasantries, before you are conquered, what must you be?”

“I must be mastered.”

“Good girl, you are listening. Now, let’s try again. Yes, what?” His tone was insistent and firm.

Hermione would have felt shame at the answer she was about to give, but the very idea of it was it was only deepening that hot ache. Her breath was so shallow, she felt as if she might faint and she clung on to the desk.

“Yes, Master.”

“Better, much, much better. Now hitch up your skirt and bend over the desk.” It was a sharp command, almost matter of fact. Hermione could only stare, open mouthed.

“Come along, what did you expect for such insolence?”

With heavy limbs and vision that was beginning to blur, she found herself complying, slowly drawing up her tight skirt, doing her best to maintain some air of seductiveness and dignity, given the situation.

“Turn around, quickly,” he huffed impatiently.

Again, she obeyed immediately. Lucius dragged the skirt the rest of the way so roughly she heard the crunch of the straining seams. Pushing her down hard, she was thankful he had positioned his other arm in a such a way it prevented her from slamming face-first into the surface of the desk.

“Rest on your elbows,” he instructed.

There was a moment’s pause. The only sound was Hermione’s scratchy and ragged breath. The flat of his hand smoothed over her arse stroking the glossy, black satin of her panties, before he slipped his hand between her legs. She let out a whimper and bit her lip, instinctively she knew she shouldn’t have made a sound, aware there may be consequences, both thrilled and terrified of what they might be.

“Oh, so damp, so very wet already. How excited you are, Rabbit”

The need to writhe against his hand which still rested lightly between her legs overcame her, but Lucius instantly snatched it away.

“No, no, no. There are lessons to be learnt. So many lessons.” With his last word he yanked her underwear down to her ankles.

Half-naked and exposed, with her bottom in the air, Hermione felt humiliation, but she found that she liked it, willed it, wanted it. Too aroused to even remember what indignant felt like, she inhaled deeply as featherlight fingertips skimmed over her bare arse.

“Your first lesson is to address your master correctly at all times.” A hard smack came down on her cheeks and she released a half-stifled cry.

Lucius sighed. “Your second lesson,” he said, followed by a succession of short sharp slaps, as he beat out his words. “Don’t. Make. Noise. Unless. Told. You. May. Do. So.”

Panting hard, the hot sting left behind competed with the relentless pulse deep within in her. Hermione could feel she was dripping wet and battled the compulsion to grind against the desk to try and sate some of that need.

“Now what have you learnt?” he demanded.

“To always address my master correctly.”

“And?” he said, as yet another unexpected whack came down.

“To only make noise when told I may do so.”

“Good girl,” he said and slipped his fingers between the soaked folds of her now desperate cunt. An unstoppable moan escaped.

Smack. Then another she thought came from the other hand.

“You’re not learning.”

The hardest yet shook through her body. It burned, yet it was delicious.

“Next, lesson: you shall apologise after any instance of disobedience.”

“I’m sorry…” she sensed his hand hovering behind her. “Master.”

Slap. Squirming from the pain, she could feel the prickling of tears. Hermione could easily sob; she held it in.

“There will be five more.”

He administered them rather evenly and she counted silently. By the fourth tears rolled down her cheeks.

“This is the last. You have done so very, very well.”

Hermione tensed and dropped her head, biting down on her wrist. Crack. The final stroke was even harder than any that had come before. Sore and tearful, she should be disgusted, instead the urgency between her now sticky thighs had only intensified. If she had felt want before, this was a ferocious hunger. Punishment, praise, it excited her like nothing she had imagined. Even as she had thumbed the pages of the book and imagined it, she had no idea that it would feel like this. Breathless and shaking, Lucius offered her a hand and helped her up to her feet.

“There,” he said, “come now.”

Hermione clung on to him, partly to steady herself as her legs were jelly. He drew out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed away the tears, shushing her and gently stroking her face. Lucius took her hand and raised it to his lips, his eyes fixed on hers.

“There now, Rabbit, you did awfully well for the first time, and how you look so shocked and more than a little confused.”

He brushed away a remaining tear with his thumb. The ache in her was powerful enough to drive her to move towards him, and he allowed Hermione to kiss him for a moment before stepping away, her face crumpling at the rejection.

“Yes, I know, all that will come in good time. I must go, and you are to attend to yourself this evening. It is for your own good, in order for you to understand it better, and be certain of what it is you want.”

Standing with her skirt still bunched around her waist, Hermione’s hand instinctively slid towards her cunt; her eyes pleaded with him to stay. Ready to beg, she silently implored him to satisfy her need. Heat radiated from her ravaged bottom and as she pressed back against the sharp and solid edge of the desk, it sent a fresh spike of pain through her body. Hermione adored it and pushed back again. Her hand slid lower, and she made a slow stroke between her sodden folds, pinching her lower lip between her teeth, wantonly trying to convince him to give her more.

“_That_ will also come, and I look forward to it _very_ much, but for now let it be yours and yours alone. Take what you feel now and use it. Lose yourself completely in it and if it is still what you desire, then tell me tomorrow.”

With that he departed, stopping at the door only to blow a kiss and bid her an unbelievably casual goodnight.

Hermione stood still and stunned for a few moments. Suddenly becoming aware that she was in the middle of her place of work, underwear curled around her ankles she scrambled to collect herself, hurriedly making herself decent. Her head swam. She needed to get out of there, and she virtually fell out of the door, barely able to mutter the charms required to seal the door against intruders. With both sets of cheeks burning, she ran home as fast as her legs could carry her, relieved when she could finally slam the door behind her and retreat to the safety of her own rooms.

The ache between her legs had barely subsided and it was only reignited each time the stinging sensation shot through her, from her freshly spanked arse. Part of Hermione wished she could forget the whole thing, not because she wanted to, but because that was how she _should_ feel. Every fibre of her being should be horrified at the way he had spoken to her, struck her, caused her physical pain and discomfort. It had quite the opposite effect; it burned white-hot inside her and made her want to cry out for more. The front door had barely clicked shut, before she had dropped her bag onto the floor and automatically reached into her soaked underwear desperate to satisfy the burning need. Letting out a deep moan, as she worked two fingers into her tight, soaked cunt, she thought she would burst if she did not find release. This time she wasn’t chanting Lucius’ name under her breath, but his new title.

“Master, my Master,” she rasped.

It felt like stealing. Already she had absorbed and adored the idea that her pleasure, as well as her pain, should belong to Lucius and Lucius alone. Hermione was more than ready to submit. She wanted him now, badly, more than ever. Though the vigorous rhythm of her own fingers working in and out brought relief, it was him she burned for. Nothing else mattered but the desperate desire for him to punish and reward her, for his fingers, his tongue and his cock. Her walls clenched around her fingers as she came with a hard, gushing orgasm. Hermione stood panting, her back pressed against the door for a moment.

Unable to resist, she freed herself from her skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor and summoned a mirror to show the rear view. Though they were beginning to fade, the red palm prints were still unmistakable. Another wave of excitement started to build as she ran her fingers over each mark, lightly at first and then increasingly firmly so she might relive the sensations he had brought. Disbelief followed, Hermione was hardly able to believe she would be so ready and in need again so quickly. She couldn’t help but imagine what other delicious things tomorrow might bring.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for subscribing, commenting and reading this story. Sorry there has been a slight delay, I have been away doing lovely Star Trek stuff but I am back and have some serious naughtiness for you all!
> 
> I hope you enjoy. Lucius is a VERY, VERY, VERY bad man. Are you with me?
> 
> Vin x

Though Hermione had been wide awake since long before dawn, she decided to arrive at work precisely on time. Too early would seem over-eager, not that part of her wasn’t dying to see Lucius again. Still, the was potential for it to be awkward. Truthfully, she had no idea how the morning would play out. Uncertain if she should broach the subject of what had happened yesterday and tackle it head on, or play things coolly and wait patiently for him to say something first. The horrific thought that nothing at all would be said about it at all had already crossed her mind, that it would be ignored or forgotten, nothing more than a source of embarrassment and regret.

Hermione was certain of one thing. She did not regret it, not even the tiniest bit. She only craved more. Lying on her back and pressing herself down into the mattress, she felt a surge of disappointment. The sting had faded completely. The night before she had admired the rosy glow and outline of his palm print, he had left behind. It had still been warm; she could press on each tender spot, reliving the thrill of it all. It further fuelled her wild and desperate lust. She had touched and brought herself so effortlessly to climax, eyes closed, imagining her fingers were his. She had wanted that so badly and did not fully understand his rejection of her. She considered his words. Perhaps he was right. Yesterday had been sudden, though his testing of the waters and subtle hints that he shared her need had all become clear, the whole thing was a foggy haze and she had been jolted into shock. A disturbed night’s sleep later and she was absolutely certain that she was ready and willing to embrace the experience, to willingly follow the rules he had beat out across her cheeks, and to relinquish control to him.

Dressing, she chose intentionally provocative black, lacy underwear. Matching and barely there it seemed perfectly fitting. Just choosing it implied she was hopeful something would happen. Her stomach tightened and flipped with the buzz of nervous energy and anticipation. Applying a shock of red lipstick, Hermione resolved to make it as difficult as possible for him to push her away again. Willing to submit in one sense, Hermione was determined she would not concede the upper hand entirely.

Lucius breezed in, throwing his cloak on the stand, propping his cane in its usual place and taking a seat at his desk. He barely even appeared to register Hermione’s presence. Instead, she stood inelegantly, trying not to rock on her heels, anticipating some sort of reaction.

“I shall take tea now, as always,” he barked.

She swallowed in disappointment; it was business as usual. Opening her mouth to speak, she thought better of it. It appeared that was that. Far too embarrassed to raise the subject, her head down, she turned towards the door to enter her part of the office.

“Would you care to join me?”

Lucius had never invited Hermione to take tea with him in the morning. He had a terrible habit of saying or doing the unexpected. Yet again, he surprised her.

Returning nervously, carrying two cups, she took a seat opposite him at his desk, just as she had at the interview. The memory of it filled her mind. How things had changed since then. Suddenly conscious that Lucius had read her thoughts so clearly the day before she shuffled in her seat and perched on the edge, sitting bolt upright and trying to think of something other than him. Her eyes shot to the desk, she saw herself vividly bent over it and being spanked by the man who now elegantly sipped tea on the other side of it.

“You may relax, Miss Granger. I am not in the habit of regularly invading your mind. That was purely an accident. Your thoughts bellowed at me; I did not seek them out intentionally.”

Hermione tried not to audibly breathe out in relief. Disappointment struck her. Back to Miss Granger. Perhaps the tea and sitting down for a friendly chat was a means to let her down gently.

“I should hope you don’t, though I’m sure you would get bored very quickly if you were always reading my mind.”

“I find that extremely difficult to believe. There was nothing dull or uninteresting about your imaginings, yesterday. I found them rather…stimulating.”

Hermione smirked. The polite thanks but no thanks seemed far less likely.

“How smug you look. It does not become you to appear so _self-satisfied_.”

She knew exactly what he was implying as his tongue curled around the words. Though she fought to conceal it, an ache was already forming. Her breathing had become a little shallower and her heart rate had increased.

“Did you have an opportunity to…consider your wishes, last night?” Lucius said, raising an eyebrow over his tea cup. He spoke as if it were nothing, a trivial matter.

“Yes, yes I did.”

Allowing the memory to play out now, she looked directly into his eyes. Lust burned in hers, but he revealed nothing. Hermione briefly considered that he would be an excellent poker player.

“And? Is it still what you desire?”

She licked her lips knowingly and consciously lowered her voice to a whisper. Hermione had never really played the role of temptress. Tentatively, she parted her legs slightly and crossing them with agonising slowness, urging him to look, willingly trying to incite him.

“Very much.”

Tension rose. It stole the air in the room, and she felt her breath shorten. Her composure and efforts to seduce and bewitch were beginning to crumble. Trying not to shuffle and fidget was impossible. Hermione knew how much it irritated him, yet Lucius still appeared unmoved.

“Then we should discuss our terms. I assume you have never engaged in this sort of thing before.”

Hermione nodded. It sounded serious and formal, like he was conducting a business transaction.

“No, it’s new to me. I mean I have…you know. I’m not a, well a virgin or anything, but not like _this_.”

“I understand. I can’t imagine Weasley was capable of pleasuring himself without an instruction manual, let alone a woman.”

Hermione smirked. It was cruel, but not entirely untrue.

“Understand, this is not a romance. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement. However, it should also be a mutually pleasurable arrangement. I expect you to submit, fully and without hesitation. You will, of course, be able to identify certain boundaries, your tolerances, if you like. Do you know what your limits are?”

“I…I don’t. I have no idea.”

She didn’t. Until a short time ago she didn’t even imagine any of this entire scenario would appeal to her in the slightest. Hermione’s sexual encounters up until yesterday had all been relatively vanilla in flavour, nothing out of what she considered the ordinary. Some had been considerably more ordinary than others.

Hermione had her first orgasm that had not occurred alone in a darkened corridor where Viktor Krum had slightly clumsily, but ultimately effectively fingered her in a darkened corridor of Hogwarts. He had done so several times, though she had never dared go any further. She had touched him, briefly, felt him smooth and hard in her hand, but young and nervously she had shied away. Sex with Ron had never moved the Earth. He was eager, often over-eager. With careful angling and a sprinkle of luck, he had occasionally been able to make her come. Those occasions were few and far between. They had certainly never been adventurous. A couple of brief, though relatively more satisfying encounters and that was the sum total of her experiences. Hermione had no idea what Lucius imagined her range of experiences to be, but there had been nothing even close enough for her to have imagined limits.

“No, I am sure you don’t,” he said gently, but with an almost patronising tone. “Our first task is to find the absolute hard threshold of what you can withstand and the _softer_, less rigid edges of what you may be led to endure at my command.”

Lucius smiled wickedly.

“Alright,” she said in a hushed tone, both excited and afraid.

He sighed.

“Oh Rabbit, you must trust your Master implicitly. You shall elect a word. Something removed, inconsequential, something you wouldn’t have cause to use in such a situation as you will find yourself in. There is no need to utter it.” He smirked. “You may be unable to speak at the time. Simply consent for me to always hear it, think of it and I shall know you can take no more.”

“Bluebird,” she said without hesitation.

“And I shall always hear it?”

“You shall always hear it.”

“Excellent. Though it is perhaps not an ideal set of circumstances for such an arrangement, I trust you are content to remain in my employ?”

Hermione nodded in agreement.

“Are you satisfied that…_liaisons _may take place within the offices, but are absolutely separate from your paid work?”

“Yes.”

Lucius glanced around the room. Hermione followed his eyeline, noting that the furniture in the office had changed. One of the large chairs by the fireside had been replaced by a black, leather chaise long. Imagining it had been placed there because it had a purpose it seemed Lucius expected nothing less than her full and absolute agreement to his terms and a desire to continue. She briefly considered whether she should have played harder to get. The mounting need that tingled and coursed through her body prompted her to dismiss the idea immediately.

“Within normal working boundaries you shall continue to address me as Sir. Should I address you as Rabbit, you will use Master.”

“Yes, Master.”

Hermione adored the sound of it. She wanted to say it again and again and feel the surge of lust it drew from her.

Lucius gave silent approval.

“One final thing. This is a private arrangement and I mean private. The very nature of it is not to be divulged to another living soul. Indiscretion will bring it to an abrupt and unpleasant end. Do I make myself clear?”

He was stern and deadly serious.

“Perfectly. It’s not something I want the world to know either. I’m not sure people would understand, my friends certainly wouldn’t.”

“Then we have an accord.”

“It seems we do.”

“And a shared secret. A _filthy _little secret. Do you like filthy things, Hermione?”

“Yes, I think I do,” she rasped, parting her thighs further and leaning back in seat, pushing her hips upwards in a far bolder, wanton invitation.

“Dirty, wicked secrets?”

“Yes.”

Hermione virtually panted the word out.

“Have you been a filthy, dirty, wicked girl, Rabbit?”

“I have. I have been so very wicked.”

“Excellent,” he said as his expression curled into smug satisfaction. “Now, I wish to know all about your evening.”

“What would you like me to tell you, Master?” she whispered back, still revelling in the new form of address. Hermione did not question if it was demeaning. Instead she found it liberating.

“Oh no. I don’t wish you to tell me. I _demand_ that you show me. Undress and lie down.”

Lucius looked at the chaise again, then charmed the door locked.

“Show me,” he insisted.

Hermione rose slowly to her feet and unzipped her skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor. Undoing her blouse slowly, he watched every movement intently. She tried to conceal the tremble in her fingers, but he was too observant.

“How you shake. Are you frightened, Rabbit?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Perhaps you should be. I can be such a kind and benevolent Master, but make no mistake, I will punish any transgressions severely.”

A low whimper escaped her lips. Her cunt screamed for attention; the flimsy lace of her panties already felt dampened. Standing in only her carefully chosen underwear, Hermione suddenly felt self-conscious.

“All of it. Don’t keep me waiting. Do as you are told.

Gingerly, she reached back to undo the hooks on her bra.

“Good girl, go on.”

She complied and slid each strap down, fighting the need to fold her arms across her chest and hide herself.

“Show me,” he commanded.

Hermione moved her arms away. The cool air drifted over her already taut and stiffened nipples.

“Better.”

He was now on his feet, ushering Hermione to the chaise and pushing down on her shoulder, wordlessly instructing her to lie down. She looked up at him wide-eyed and open mouthed as his index finger pulled and tugged at the waist band of her panties.

“My, my, what slutty underwear. Are you a slut?”

It sent a jolt through her, her hips automatically rocking at his words.

“I…I…”

Hermione wanted to say yes. She wanted Lucius to tell her over and over again that she was a slut. He read her response instantly.

“You are a slut. You know you are a slut. Tell me what you are, Rabbit. Tell your Master what a nasty slut you are.”

“I’m a slut, a dirty, nasty, filthy, wicked slut.”

Hermione could have sobbed. Completely soaked, her desperate hips bucked again. Lucius traced his finger over the dampened underwear.

Hermione let out a hoarse cry in response.

“Take them off, slut. Show me your cunt.”

She responded with another needy wail and wriggled out of her panties, keeping her knees together as embarrassment fought with the hot ache that had been building there.

“Show me how wicked you have been, I wish to see what you did.”

Her hand slid downwards. Lucius forced her legs apart roughly. Bare and exposed, Hermione instinctively closed her eyes.

“Look at me,” he said firmly.

Her eyes met his.

“Now show me.”

She found her cunt aching, warm and wet as she slid her fingers between the folds, stroking her throbbing clit. Shyness dissolved, as Lucius sat back in the chair opposite and watched, his eyes burning with lust and his tongue occasionally tracing over his lip. Now Hermione wanted to put on a show and pushed herself further, sliding one, then two fingers inside. A stifled grunt of approval spurred her on to press a third finger inside and work them in and out.

“Oh yes, such a wanton slut you are. Unable to contain your excitement. Did you think about your spanking, Rabbit?”

“Yes.”

“Did you think long and hard about it? Did excite you, make you wet?”

“Yes.”

“Are you all wet for your Master now?”

“Yes, oh yes.”

Sticky, coated fingers slipped in back and forth. Hermione adored the stretch and feeling of being filled. She bucked against her own hand, burying her fingers deep within then withdrawing them slowly. Hermione didn’t know how long she could hang on or how much she could take. Lucius glanced from her burning and glossy eyes down to her frantic fingers.

“Did you come, Rabbit? Did you come hard?”

There was a trace of excitement in his voice, a lingering hiss that betrayed his own arousal. He gave so little away that she cherished it. It fed her want.

“Yes, yes Master, so hard.”

Barely able to speak, she gasped through breathy moans and sighs, forcing her heavy-lidded eyes to stay focused on him.

“Then I must teach you another lesson.”

Lucius was leaning over her, brushing his lips over hers as she still pumped her fingers in and out of her pussy and greedily demanded more of his mouth.

“Ah, ah, ah. You are not to come without your Master’s permission. You must _always _ask first.”

He grabbed her wrist roughly and snatched her hand away. Hermione wailed in frustration.

“Silence. Turn over, on your hands and knees. You are to be punished.”

The chaise was wide enough for her to position herself comfortably as Lucius bound her at the wrists and ankles. Unsure where the rope had come from, she imagined it was already there and every step was pre-meditated and planned. Punishment was inevitable and she embraced it. She tugged at the soft ropes that now constricted her movement and fixed her body in position. Just able to see over her shoulder, she watched as Lucius produced a flat, black leather paddle from the drawer of his desk. Hermione’s breath hitched, and she ached from the lack of attention.

“Now, you will take your punishment and remember the rules.”

Bringing the paddle down hard, this was far more relentless than the last time. Each loud crack sent a shock through her body, the fierce sting only served to intensify the delicious urgency between her legs. She could feel pure lust pooling their, dripping down onto her thighs and she was sure she could hear Lucius’ breath grow ragged and short. The need to push her legs together was overwhelming, but the bindings would not allow it. Biting down hard on her lip was the only way she could contain the yelps and whimpers that tried time and again to force their way out. Hermione did remember the rules. The rules were burnt into her mind, she had thought about little else since yesterday. Another hard smack came, and the sound reverberated around the room. Warmth spread through her cheeks, blooming and burning and tears of joy blended with pain formed.

“There now, what a good girl, not a sound or a whimper. You have done so very well.”

Lucius untidied her wrists.

“You should be grateful for your correction,” he whispered into her ear.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Excellent, now you may finish what you started.”

Hermione let out a growl of frustration.

“Oh, why whatever is wrong, Rabbit? Is that not what you want? Tell me what it is that you do want?”

“I want you to touch me, I want you. Please. Please Master.”

Sobbing in desperation, she ached for him and could think of nothing else.

“Oh, my precious little thing,” he laughed wickedly. “Begging already, how thoroughly delicious. Do go on.”

She looked at him wide-eyed and uncertain.

“Beg.”

“Please,” she whined.

“Please, what?” he said raking his fingers into her hair and tugging her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

“Please, Master.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to touch me, I need…I want, please.”

Hermione struggled for words, her eyes pleading as much as her words. Lucius looked at her expectantly.

“Please make me come.”

“And your pleasure will belong to me, it will be mine and mine alone?”

“Yes, it’s yours, it’s all yours. Take it, please.”

He finally relented and looked pleased with himself. His hand ran lightly down her back making it arch like a cat. He made his way over the curve of her bottom, reigniting the heat and sting there, then light, ghosting fingertips trailed up her inner thigh. Hermione’s legs tensed in anticipation. Lucius made her wait. Then, as she stifled a hoarse cry his elegant fingers traced over her dripping cunt.

“Oh, how wet you are, Rabbit. So desperate. Is this what you crave?” he said as he slid two fingers inside her. Barely able to breathe she somehow managed to have enough voice and presence of mind to thank him as he worked a slow and torturous rhythm in and out. Fighting the sudden instinct to move with him, she gripped the sides of the chaise and closed her eyes.

“_Fuck,”_ she muttered under her breath.

“My what a filthy mouth you have. Let me hear more. I want to hear you.”

Lucius pushed his fingers deeper inside, curling and twisting them, extracting sounds and feelings she couldn’t have contained if he’d insisted on it. Hermione mewled and panted, finally giving in to the urge to rock against him.

“Fuck, yes,” she gasped loudly as he withdrew his fingers and instead brushed and stroked at the sensitive bud of nerves that pushed her closer.

Responding in nothing but wordless murmurs and squeals, she yelped as he once more pulled hard at her hair.

“Is this what you wanted, Rabbit?”

“Yes, fucking hell, yes, please. I need…”

“What do you need?”

“I need to come. Please let me come.”

He was rough now, vigorously fucking her with his fingers, still yanking at her hair with his other hand until she was completely coming undone, her cries were sharper and uncontrolled, her walls tightening and clenching with each thrust. Hermione held the note of her last moan as ecstasy ripped through her body and stole the air from her lungs. Floating back down slowly, her cunt still twitching and pulsing, holding his fingers inside her, finally it subsided. As her breathing returned to a regular pace and Lucius moved away; Hermione instantly felt bereft. She heard him uttering an unfamiliar spell.

“Touch yourself,” he demanded.

Slowly she reached down, only to be met with a crackle and an electrical shock. Snatching her hand away, she stared at him confused and uncertain.

“Try again.”

Her efforts were met with the same result.

“Now your pleasure belongs to me, your cunt belongs to me, and you will come, or not, depending on my whim. It will be as and when I allow it. You should be careful what you wish for, dear little Rabbit.”

Staring open mouthed, she had no answer.

“But, but, what did you do?”

“You consented. You agreed most emphatically that your pleasure would belong to me. Now it does.”

Too dazed to press him anymore and still drifting back to Earth, she tried to absorb what had just happened. 

“Come now,” he said, his tone softening suddenly, “lie a moment and recover yourself.”

He carefully untied her ankles and eased her onto her back. Hermione winced and was reminded of the pain. Lucius hovered over her, leaning down to kiss her, softly and deeply.

“Good girl,” he smiled as he broke away.

Hermione moaned and searched for more but was denied. Lucius returned from a cabinet at the side of the room carrying a small bottle. Taking each wrist in turn, he kissed the red bands that the bindings had left behind and applied the potion. He did the same at her ankles. There was a tender reverence to the action.

“Turn,” he said tapping at her shoulder and she rolled over onto her front as he had instructed.

This time he rubbed the healing lotion into the sore and rosy cheeks of her arse. Hermione sighed deeply. Making broad, massaging strokes down her back and delicately smoothing her hair were equally unexpected and despite the excitement. When he finally stopped, Hermione was so relaxed she could have fallen asleep.

“All better now, Rabbit. Tempting as you are, I think that is quite enough for today. You must dress yourself and business must go on as usual.”

He brushed away her hair and delicately kissed the back of her neck, moving along her shoulder, making the faintest of contacts with his tongue and teeth.

Resigned to the fact she would now have to return to normality and go about her day as if nothing had happened, Hermione sighed again.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, I should say thank you. I want…I still need…”

“Be patient. Good things come to good girls who wait.”

“But don’t you want…don’t you want more?”

“More will come. In time. These things should not and need not be rushed.”

Hermione squeezed her lips together tightly and nodded her head.

“That thing, you did…”

“I did a number of things, be specific.”

“So, I can’t touch.”

“Yes, a useful and rather delicious tool in teaching complete obedience.”

“Can it be removed?”

“I can remove it. Don’t waste your time studying furiously seeking ways to circumvent it.”

“But it can be removed?”

“If and when I choose to do so.”

“But that’s so unfair. I need to wash for starters!”

“It is adaptive and will know your intentions completely. Feel free to test it. I sense it will only heighten your desperation. I could, of course remove it now.”

Hermione looked hopeful.

“But it would result in a dissolution of our agreement with immediate effect. If you are simply not cut out for this type of arrangement, you may withdraw with no repercussions or ill will.”

“No, don’t. I don’t want that.”

She tried and failed not to sound desperate. Lucius looked exceptionally delighted.

“I suspected that might be your conclusion. I have pressing business to attend to and must leave you alone. Your tasks are on my desk.”

“Must you go?”

“Work must continue, Miss Granger. You have catching up to do already. I would hate to think your work is suffering, as a result of other _distractions_.”

In an instant, Lucius Malfoy became her employer again.

Pulling on his cloak, he paused.

“You have done exceedingly well today. I am impressed at how well you have taken to this.”

Hermione smiled back, still not quite out of her dreamy and blissful state.

“I’m a little impressed with myself.”

“Ah, your trademark arrogance. It did not take long for it to surface again.”

There was still a lightness in his tone. Hermione still hadn’t moved.

“Miss Granger,” he barked.

“Hmm.”

“Work!”

Hermione sat up slowly. Lucius had gone. Suddenly alone, she took in the sight of her discarded clothes and felt conscious she was naked in the middle of her place of work. She scrambled to dress herself and picked up the list. Odd as it seemed, she was grateful for something to ground her and she cleared away the cups and made her way to her own desk.

This was happening, it was real, and she made her mind up there and then to stop questioning it, second guessing or worrying about it and to just enjoy the ride.

Lucius was out of the office for much of the day. It made it slightly easier to concentrate on mundane duties. The role was hardly challenging at the best of times, but it all seemed so dull and pedestrian after the events of the last twenty-four hours. Still, she could do most of it in her sleep. Lucius eventually returned late in the day.

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger.”

“Afternoon, Sir.”

He examined the list, eyeing her over the top of the parchment.

“I trust you have been productive in my absence.”

“Of course,” she smirked back.

It was less strange and stilted than Hermione had imagined and somehow, they managed to slip back into the established routine until the clock stuck five.

“Goodnight, Sir,” she grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was almost a question, a loaded one at that.

“Yes, yes you will indeed. I should like it if you could arrive tomorrow in stockings. I am rather fond of them. Can you fulfil such a request?”

“Of course.”

“And perhaps…without underwear.”

“Not a problem. Will that be all?”

Hermione sucked in her cheeks and pouted. As was so often the norm, Lucius barely looked up.

“I think so.”

Hermione turned to leave.

“One more thing.”

She looked back over her shoulder. Now he bored into her with intent.

“I expect your cunt will be aching all night. Burning up and crying insistently for attention.”

Her breath hitched.

“It will of course go unsatisfied, you poor thing, how very lustful and desperate you will be feeling by tomorrow. Sleep well, my dear”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for leaving kudos, subscribing and especially those lovely reviews. I'm hoping to do a few updates quite quickly. I adore you all for it.
> 
> Oh he's a naughty, naughty, naughty man! (and I love him!)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the next chapter.
> 
> As always, comments are welcomed and adored.

It was a long night. Hermione ached. Despite Lucius’ efforts to soothe her, there was still a rawness around her wrists and ankles. Her bottom still throbbed and was warm to the touch. Simply turning over in her bed was enough to refresh the sting and ache left behind. Hermione adored it but was equally tormented by it. Even that damn book seemed to be taunting her from the bedside table, daring her to look, challenging her to tolerate more and threatening to conjure images that would only fuel the desperation that swelled and grew deep within her. The vivid memory of Lucius’ fingers working inside her were no comfort at all; it only made her long for more. Her own fingers strayed downward, only to be met with a sudden shock of electricity, forcing her to retract them hastily. She would drift off, only for her imagination and memory to renew the urgency for touch. Forgetting about the restriction, she would repeat the action, only to be denied again.

Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if she had begged him more convincingly, would he have fucked her? She had wanted it so badly. Deep down she recognised that if he had truly wanted to, it would have happened. Lucius Malfoy appeared to be completely in control of the situation. He didn’t seem the type to deny himself what he desired, yet he had never invited her to touch him. It confused and disappointed her. Hermione was neither needy nor had low self-esteem, yet his rejection of her gave rise to feelings she did not wish to dwell upon. Trying everything to push it from her mind, it was still proving to be an impossible task; the thoughts of him, his mouth, his tongue and more, so much more that she didn’t feel as if she simply wanted those things anymore but was now sure that she needed them. Though every strike of the paddle had been painful, it had never once occurred to Hermione to think of the safe word, ‘bluebird’ had never crossed her mind, not even for a second. She questioned made how far she could push herself and where those limits he had mention may lie.

The hunger was rising within her. There was nothing she could do other than squeeze her legs together tightly to try and dull the acute ache. In a brief moment of anger at her enforced frustration, she cursed him, at first under her breath and then aloud.

“Fuck you, Lucius Malfoy. Fucking, fucking…fucker.”

Rage subsided quickly. Instead she focused her mind on the thought of it, the very idea of relinquishing control so completely to someone else, the idea aroused her more. Satisfaction now lay solely in the hands of her master. If this was full and willing submission, then she thirsted for more. Still, she squirmed uncomfortably against the sheets. A sleeping potion was tempting, yet it felt like cheating. This was what he had intended, and she had consented to it. Never one to give in so easily to adversity, Hermione became adamant that she would endure and embrace every second of it. She would suffer through the night as he wished.

In the strange space between complete arousal and absolute denial her mind wandered, it took her to darker places. She imagined the feel of harder, sharper punishments. She sought sensation and discovered, though her own cunt was barred to her, there was no control or limitation placed on the rest of her body. Hermione stroked at her hardened nipple. There was no consequence and she smirked at her own cleverness. She took the taut bud between her finger and thumb and applied more pressure. This time she let out a soft moan. Again. She pinched sharply. It sent a hot spike of desire to forbidden places. Turning her attention to the other, she pinched harder and tugged at the sensitive bud. The painful but delicious response forced a louder cry out of her. She pulled and nipped, daring herself to be more and more brutal, testing her own limits and ability to push herself further. Her cunt throbbed. Panting and searching for a greater thrill, she pressed her fingernail into the tender pink flesh. She inhaled sharply but continued. Her hips bucked at the intensity. She stopped. Her nipple pulsed and burned, and she allowed the feeling to wash over her body. Remaining still, the urge rose again. Tentatively, she pushed again, tugging it out hard with one hand and jabbing a sharp nail in with the other. Biting her lip in pain, she once more stretched it out, for as long as she could stand it, until her eyes watered. Plucking and dragging, she carried on until she was sobbing and writhing in need. She almost felt she could come from that alone, she felt achingly close but could not quite get there.

Hermione clenched her fists and thumped them into the mattress. Content she had discovered something, but still wild with want, she conceded that was as far as she could go for one night. At some point, exhaustion took over, her eyes closed and finally she slept.

___________

Lucius poured himself a fine cognac he generally indulged in only on very special occasions. Deciding this evening was worthy of a celebratory drink; he was rather pleased with himself. Hermione Granger was all he had hoped for and could be so much more. He allowed himself to relive the glorious sight of her bound and naked. There was much work to be done, she was far from the finished article, but the pleasure of training her was satisfaction in itself. The self-righteous little witch fascinated him.

He had intentionally struck her harder this time; a test passed with flying colours and now he pondered just how far her taste for submissiveness might go. There wasn’t a word of complaint as he had denied her the right to touch herself at will, not a single utterance of protest, no demand for it to be undone. Lucius had fully anticipated an indignant tirade about her rights. That would have been typical of her. He had anticipated more resistance, but she was so compliant and needy for more. It wasn’t something he would normally have done so soon, yet she seemed so ready, oh so very ripe and ready.

He could have fucked her there and then. The delicious view of her, legs spread, her own slender fingers pressed into her willing cunt had been everything he had hoped for and more. Lucius had been hard just watching her, he was just as hard now remembering it. Perhaps he should have fucked her while she was so delightfully restrained. The thought of her shaking and mewling, coming over his cock was enough for. He liked the wait, the expectation, patience was worthwhile. Once she was ready it would be a delight. He had denied himself enough for one day and he stroked his cock, imagining his new pet squirming in her bed, impatient for his attentions.

XXXX

The next morning, Hermione had followed Lucius’ instructions meticulously, rolling up lace-topped stockings and securing them in place. Applying a shock of red lipstick and a streak of eyeliner, she felt ready to face the day and was eager to get to work. Eyeing the underwear drawer, it crossed her mind that she could slip on a pair of knickers, at least for the journey to work and remove them later. Awful visions of being knocked clumsily to the ground by some burly wizard and exposing herself to a street full of Ministry commuters flashed through her mind. After the incident with the book, she was reluctant to leave anything to chance. Ultimately deciding it was another form of cheating, she did without. Still, there was the journey home to contend with and she weakened and shoved some into her handbag for emergencies.

She took one last look at herself in the mirror, suddenly aware that all of this was at the behest of Lucius Malfoy. So consumed by her own longing, she had forgotten who and what he had been, perhaps what he still was. Perhaps it was all a game, some drawn out and complex revenge plot. Conflicted, she realised how easily these things were masked by the raw, physical desire he sparked within her. Putting a stop to it would take seconds. Hermione considered it. She didn’t think she could, not now. She had to know, she wanted more. Even if nobody else would understand it, she didn’t have to justify herself to them. Not to Ginny, or Harry, or Ron for that matter. It was none of their business. They never even needed to know. Lucius had made it clear it was a private arrangement, she had no problem with that, in fact it was perfect. Guilt was pointless. Making her mind up there and then, she would stop questioning it and trying to second guess him. Intent on enjoying it for whatever it was, she put her doubts aside. Conscious of her nakedness beneath her skirt, she sighed deeply and pulled on her cloak.

Though she took the first footsteps outside gingerly, by the time Hermione approached the smart office building that housed her place of work, a devilish grin threatened to break out. It was surprisingly empowering. The rush of cold air had been a shock initially, but she had had tried to convince herself it was doing something to ease the dull throb between her legs that had never really subsided since yesterday. It did nothing to reduce it at all. Instead the lacy stockings and bareness underneath her skirt only served to excite her. As the journey continued the thrill of a filthy secret had put an additional spring in her step. She found it hard to conceal the hint of wickedness in her smile.

It was after ten when Lucius arrived. He often went to early morning meetings, but Hermione was never informed of their time, location or purpose. He told her little of his schedule, ever mysterious and secretive. Curiosity about what he was doing still came and went. Whatever had transpired between them in the last few days, she still didn’t trust Lucius Malfoy completely. How could she? There was so much history, it was hard to believe he had suddenly turned over a new leaf and abandoned everything he used to believe. Still, her heart leapt into her stomach as she heard the door open.

This morning he had a look of smug satisfaction. She had anticipated every remark he might make and rehearsed a snippy comeback. Lucius said nothing and she felt a twinge of disappointment.

“Tea,” he said, clapping his hands.

Once that would have made her silently curse him. It made her smirk now. Hermione placed his cup down on the desk, bending slowly and with intent. She chewed at her lip and drew out the action, pausing as she leant across the desk, pushing her bottom upwards, demanding attention.

Lucius peered over his papers.

Aware she was being watched, she gradually straightened up and twirled at a loose strand of hair. She waited.

“Can I help you? Are you lost or confused? Do you have no work to be getting on with?”

“Certainly, Sir,” she replied with a smirk.

Lucius looked unimpressed. Perhaps he was in no mood for games after all. Concealing her disappointment, she turned and started to make her way back to her desk.

“Oh, Miss Granger,” he called after her.

“Yes?”

“I trust you managed to follow all of my instructions.”

“Of course,” she grinned, unable to hide her reaction, she was pleased he couldn’t see the look on her face. It wouldn’t do to allow him to think she was too eager.

“Show me. No need to turn around.”

Hermione deliberately hitched up her skirt, filled with an overriding sense of power and control as she inched it higher and higher. She was dying to turn and look at him but tried to resist.

“Very good,” he said as nonchalantly as ever.

Unable to resist, she peeked over her shoulder. Lucius was already buried in the papers on his desk. He glanced up, but instantly shooed her away silently with the wave of his hand.

Owls piled in all morning and Hermione was relieved to be busy. The omnipresent hum of need coupled with increasing dampness persisted. She drifted in and out of work and fantasy, until both were disturbed. Lucius appeared in the doorway.

“You shall accompany me to lunch…_Rabbit_.”

“Yes, Master,” she chirped, swept up in the excitement as she grabbed her handbag and wrapped herself up with haste. It suddenly dawned on her that this was a very public place. How could this possibly work? _Rabbit_ implied a certain sort of dynamic, one they had only ever indulging in safely behind closed doors. Perhaps it was a mistake? She doubted it. Lucius was so precise and fussy about these things. She had no idea what was in store. Nerves and arousal blended. Hermione swallowed hard and clattered after Lucius, who had already left the offices without a moment’s pause.

It was busy. Christmas was rapidly approaching; the streets were lined with out-of-town daytrippers and harassed office workers trying to squeeze gift shopping into their lunch breaks. The restaurant was the same one they had visited the day they had attended Pyke’s offices. The place looked different, now covered in bright, festive decorations, twinkling lights and wreaths. It had a jolly atmosphere and the room was noisy and filled with laughter and merriment. Only Lucius was frowning.

“Tourists,” he cursed as he pushed through the cheery crowd and politely pulled out Hermione’s seat at a narrow table in the corner. It quickly became evident why he had chosen it, as their knees were almost touching beneath the table. The owner fussed and bowed, just as he had the last time.

Hermione looked at Lucius over the menu. She had studied the book; she knew sometimes these arrangements extended beyond obviously sexual encounters. She wondered if he wanted that and that was why he had brought her here. Unsure how to ask she looked hesitantly. He understood her question.

“Eat as you like, it is of no consequence to me.”

It appeared all very normal at first. He made small talk, ate his steak and drank his wine like there was nothing of any great importance or interest on his mind, until, without provocation or warning his feet tapped at hers, subtly bidding her knees to part. She complied, stiffening suddenly in her seat.

Lucius carried on speaking; his eyes fixed on hers. Hermione almost choked on her food as from nowhere his fingers traced the fine lace band around her thigh and found the bare flesh above it. He leant forward and starred at her intently.

“Good girl, stockings as I requested, lace-topped no less. My favourite.”

Hermione gulped as he stroked at the fabric, occasionally making agonisingly light contact with her skin.

“Have I been good?”

She adored it. _Good girl_. The words alone made her blush.

“Shall we see, Rabbit? Shall we find out if you have done all your Master told you to?”

His fingers crept higher, still barely there but it was enough to make the her hold her breath to contain a whimper. Further, closer. Her eyes were wide. Finally, he found the damp heat of her cunt and it was all she could do not to cry out. He smiled wickedly as he teased at her opening, parting her folds and running his fingertip down the length of her slit. Hermione sighed and leaned back into the chair, pressing her weight down into the seat as if it would somehow hold her together and ground her, as warm, tingling waves spread out. As he slid an exploratory finger inside her, the fork in her fell from her shaking hand with a loud clatter against the table. He snorted and his fingers slipped away. Hermione exhaled, relieved but already mourning the loss of his touch.

“Are you impatient? In need?”

“You know I am,” she hissed.

Suddenly, the owner appeared, showering Lucius with insincere but necessary platitudes.

“Delicious,” Lucius said sucking his finger in an exaggerated manner. “In fact, we may have dessert. My companion simply cannot wait to be indulged.”

Hermione couldn’t look at the oblivious restaurateur, or at Lucius and starred as blankly as she could at a wine glass, sucking in her cheeks. The owner fussed and fretted. He continued to suck teasingly on his finger.

“Is everything to your liking, Sir? Can I get you anything else?”

“Oh yes,” he smirked, “I think I have plenty to be getting on with, don’t you think, Hermione?”

Hermione wasn’t even listening, distracted by the ache between her legs and the sticky juices that were pooling there. She did not reply.

“Madam?” the owner looked grave.

“Sorry, what?” she mumbled distantly, observing Lucius still lapping at his fingertip, imagining just where it had been and what he was tasting. He licked his lips.

“Is everything to your liking, Miss?” he nervously asked again.

“Yes, yes, lovely. Thank you.”

The owner gave a sigh of relief and scurried away.

Lucius began talking again like nothing had happened. Hermione was flushed and breathless but tried to follow suit.

“I assume you will expect to take leave over the festive period,” he said, continuing with his dinner.

“Yes, even Scrooge gave Bob Cratchit Christmas Day off.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow.

“Are you implying I am a less than generous employer?”

“Oh, I didn’t think…”

“I would get the reference?”

“No, I suppose I didn’t.”

“I may stretch to more than a day.”

Hermione hadn’t given Christmas much thought. She had always spent it at the Burrow. Perhaps this year Pansy Parkinson would be Ron’s guest. The reality was she was more than likely to end up alone in the flat.

“How charitable of you,” she said, taking a sip of wine.

“I find this time of year a nuisance. Business shuts down and I am surrounded by dreadful tackiness and gaudy displays that offend my eyes.” He glanced at the garlands and sparkly decorations with distaste, pausing to grimace at a wizard bounding in wearing a green elf hat.

“And you? Will you spend it at the Manor?”

“I imagine so,” he said, guarded and coldly.

“And Draco, will he come for Christmas?”

Lucius stiffened and scowled.

“What do you imagine gives you the right to pry into my personal affairs? It is none of your business.”

There was a flash in his eye and his voice was filled with barely controlled anger. Hermione knew she had struck a raw nerve. Aware the relationship between father and son was strained, bordering on non-existent from what she’d heard, she regretted mentioning Draco.

“I’m sorry.”

She meant it.

Hermione thought there was a slight softening in his features. He said nothing, then she felt a sharp pinch at the top of her thigh that made her wince.

“Incorrect.”

Hermione was open mouthed.

“You don’t want me to…? Here?”

“I must not have made myself clear. Now, Rabbit, apologise properly.” He pinched again, nipping the soft flesh between his finger and thumb and twisting. It was painful but sent a shock of delicious electricity straight to her core. Her breath hitched.

“Sorry….”

She looked around the busy restaurant nervously, knowing what he demanded from her. Her eyes darted to nearby tables. Everyone looked engrossed in their own conversations or were busy eating. Lucius looked at her expectantly, urging her on.

“_Master_,” she whispered.

Hermione was torn between shame and embarrassment. It was so public; someone could see or overhear them at any moment. The instinctive and base drive between her legs waged war with the rational thoughts in her head.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you. A little louder I think.”

Another nip at her thigh sent another jolt through her body. Hermione could feel it bruising her, making her feel both terrified and alive. She revelled in the painful sensation. Daring herself to be bold and brave, she said it again, a little louder.

“Sorry, Master.”

“No, no, no. No conviction at all. Again. Louder, and with feeling.”

Her eyes were darting around the room, certain somebody must have noticed this scene playing out, or overheard her, but she was still driven on. The dull throb became sharp and urgent. Raising the volume again slightly, she said it again as quickly as she could.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

The words rolled into each other and she blurted it out as if they were causing her pain. Shame still battled with desperate arousal. She shouldn’t want or like this, but she did.

“Louder,” he demanded.

It was too much. People would hear, stare at them. How could he ask this of her?

“I don’t think…I can’t. I thought this was meant to be private, between us, there are so many people here.” It came to mind, ‘bluebird’ hovered in her thoughts. She could and should put a stop to this before she was completely shown up in a crowded restaurant. It tortured her, she didn’t want to stop, but found it hard to continue. The freshly marked skin at the top of her thigh stung and burned. It excited her, deep down, so did the relinquishing of control and the thought of humiliation, but surely this was a step too far out in public. Those thoughts didn’t go unheard.

“Do you wish the game to stop?” he said abruptly, swallowing hard. 

Hermione thought about that for a second. It was in her hands. Trying to read his expression was never easy, he gave away so little. Somewhere, if only faintly, she thought she registered disappointment.

“No, I don’t want to stop,” she said firmly. “I just don’t like the idea of…”

His fingers were there once again slipping between slickened folds, finding warmth and wetness. Her hips rocked against his hand as she keened for more. Gasping softly, he found that tender place and exploited her pent up need that had built overnight. She felt her nipples stiffening, still sore from her own attentions.

“Perhaps you don’t,” he purred, “but your cunt does. Always so very wet, Rabbit. Now at the top of your voice, apologise properly.”

Panting, glassy-eyed and virtually sobbing, Hermione dug deep. Lost in want, she had ceased to care about anyone else in the room. Nobody else mattered. Pressing her eyes tightly shut, she shouted it, releasing the words at the top of her lungs.

“Sorry, Master.”

Nothing.

Hermione felt liberation and fear in the same ragged breath.

The noise in the room didn’t stop suddenly. Opening one eye cautiously, she looked around. Nobody had frozen mid-mouthful at the revelation or had as much as turned their head in her direction. Confusion and bewilderment at how not a single soul had registered an interest in the scene in the corner of the room filled Hermione’s mind.

“But, I don’t…how did nobody…?”

Lucius laughed heartily.

“Oh, Rabbit, did you really believe I would compel you to draw such attention to our liaison when I was so specific in my desire for secrecy? I frequent this restaurant often. When I request a _private _table, the owner knows I wish it to be absolute. A simple sound-proofing spell allows me to speak freely.”

Hermione’s eyes burned with both lust and anger. His deft fingers cut off any complaint and she stifled a moan. Squirming against his hand, she revelled in it, the very public nature of it, the wickedness as he teased and stroked at her plump and needy clit.

One, then another finger worked inside her, twisting and curling, pumping in and out with delicious slowness and then with a vigorous rhythm. Hermione clenched and clamped down on them, holding him there, never wanting him to leave. Gritting her teeth, she huffed heavily through her nose, trying to contain each grunt and growl the skilful finger fucking was extracting from her. His coated, sticky fingers slid back and forth. So wet now she was convinced she was dripping down onto the seat. She no longer cared.

His eyes were fixed on her.

“Do you like that, Rabbit? Is that what you need? You have been fed, but your poor cunt is starved and so very greedy. Are you a greedy girl?”

“Yes. So greedy,” she murmured, hardly able to form the words.

His thumb grazed her clit and she hissed sharply through her teeth.

“So, sensitive. It must have been such a long night for you, denied pleasure.”

“Uh huh.”

“Poor you, so desperate now. Are you desperate? Do you need it?”

Hermione swallowed and nodded.

Gripping the edge of the table, she could feel herself coming undone, the knot in her stomach tightening and coiling inside her, in unison with his fingers that worked so deeply into her.

The room was packed. It didn’t matter. Urgent need now controlled her thoughts and actions.

“Please can I come?” she whimpered.

“What a very good girl, learning so fast. Do you need it badly?”

He pumped his fingers slowly in and out and he drew teasing circles over her clit. She could barely remain still, now openly panting.

“Yes, please, please. I must. I need to. So close.”

“Here? In front of all these people? You want to come for your Master now?”

Hermione knew he was enjoying this. His eyes lit up with devilment as he withdrew his fingers completely. Pushing her hips out towards him, she pled for their return.

“Yes,” she rasped, now ready to beg.

“Filthy witch, such a slut.”

“Perhaps I should leave you, a quivering, desperate mess. Shall I do that?”

“No, please, don’t. I need it.”

“It seems you do. Do you deserve it?”

“Please, I want to. I want to be good. I try to be good. Gods, I wanted to touch last night, so much. So much it hurts. It actually hurts.”

“It must ache.”

He thrust in deeply, working in a third finger, making her feel fuller and stretched. A small cry burst from her lips. Hermione was almost in tears.

“it does, it does. I want it to. I need it to, but please let me come.”

“Very well.”

He upped the pace and pressure. Hermione was already teetering on the edge.

“Come for me, slut.”

Hermione shook delicately in her seat, her thighs tensed as she fought to contain it. Warm waves of pleasure rushed through her. Forcing herself to keep her heavy-lidded eyes open, he held eye contact as she clenched and tightened around his fingers, gushing onto them as she came.

Her cheeks burned at what she had done, but it felt so good and her heart thumped as if it was ready to burst out of her chest at any moment. It was glorious ecstasy.

Slowly she came back down.

“Thank you,” she murmured, struggling to form words and coherent thought.

This time he scanned around the room as he leant forward and gently brushed a sticky finger over Hermione’s lip.

“Now doesn’t that taste wicked?”

Tracing her tongue along the path of his finger, she could only nod. 

“Come, Rabbit. I shall have my dessert elsewhere.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, more naughtiness!  
Thank you for your support and love for this fic. It really means a lot, you wonderful people!

The walk back to the privacy of the offices was a hazy blur; Hermione’s head was spinning. At one point she tried to make sense of what she had just allowed to happen, with him, in a public place. It was a fruitless exercise; in that moment she barely even knew her own name. Perhaps later she would be able to digest the revelation that she had allowed Lucius Malfoy to finger her to orgasm in a restaurant packed with Christmas shoppers. Now, too drunk on lust to string together any reasoned thought, she just embraced it. She might have imagined it was another dream, or some fantasy scenario conjured by that book, but for the stickiness on her inner thighs and the weakness in her legs.

The journey was silent. Hermione struggled to keep up with Lucius, who strode ahead, parting the crowds as he always did. She watched him, her stomach doing somersaults. Not fully aware and still dazed, she found herself batting into witches and wizards, all weighed down with shopping and evidently in a hurry. Keeping her eyes fixed on that shock of blond hair, she kept going. Anticipation was growing and building with every step. Her cheeks were flushed and red.

“Hermione!” came a familiar voice.

“Not now, please not now,” she muttered under her breath.

It was Pansy Parkinson, arm in arm with Ron, seemingly dragging him around the shops. She grinned a painfully forced smile at Hermione.

“How are you, darling? Mwah, mwah,” she said, air kissing Hermione’s cheeks.

Hermione cringed, trying not to think of what had happened in the restaurant, her lack of underwear, or the pulsing, throbbing need that still thumped between her legs. She craned over Pansy’s shoulder to keep an eye on Lucius. He still moved on ahead.

“Look it’s lovely to see you, it really is, but I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“Oh, I couldn’t stand to keep you from something urgent. Work I expect. Sorry, I do forget, just being a witch about town.”

“Ever the socialite, Pansy,” she replied through gritted teeth. She had lost sight of Lucius.

“Hmm yes, Ronny darling and I are just out choosing something nice for me for Christmas, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Hermione,” he added coldly.

“Ron.”

There was an awkward pause. Pansy’s gaze flitted between them with a perverse curiosity about the interaction.

“You might need to help Ron out, he’s no good at choosing presents.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll direct him.”

“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here. Shall I go over there while you swap notes,” Ron huffed.

“Don’t be silly, Ronny.”

Ron did as he was told. Hermione imagined Ron did a lot of that. Her mind had just begun to wander. Pansy probably had the makings of a dominatrix and Ron was only ever going to be her faithful slave. It shocked her that she now thought about people in those terms. Still, she contained her amusement at the idea.

“I absolutely need new shoes, and boots. I need a new wardrobe. I can’t abide wearing anything last season. I just never feel dressed like that. Don’t you agree, Hermione?”

Hermione had stopped listening and was scanning ahead for Lucius. For that matter, Ron wasn’t listening either.

“Hermione?” Pansy demanded.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a knowing look. It was easy to forget how long they had been friends. Perhaps one day they could be again.

“Yes, yes, absolutely.”

Lucius was nowhere to be seen. Pansy was droning on about fashion again. Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron smirked. Still, she awkwardly hopped from side to side, trying to get a better view of the street.

“Miss Granger, I have urgent need of your assistance, there is no time to chat,” hissed Lucius, appearing from nowhere.

“Of course. I’m coming. Got to go. Sorry.”

“Miss Parkinson, _Weasley._ I must bid you good day.”

“Lucius, lovely to see you,” Pansy drawled sycophantically.

Ron grunted in reply.

Lucius leant in, lowering his voice.

“Come now, silly _Rabbit_,” Hermione swallowed hard, her eyes wide and stunned he had used that word in public. “So easily distracted, don’t you think, Weasley?”

Ron shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno,” he muttered.

Lucius had already turned to leave. Pansy had said goodbye and was already distracted by a shop window.

“Look I have to go. Enjoy your shopping.”

“Hermione,” Lucius bellowed.

“Ron. I am happy for you. Really, I am. I have to go. See you around.”

“See you.”

Hermione heard Pansy’s shrill voice behind her as she caught up to Lucius, “Ronny come and look at this, I want it, I want it, I want it.”

“You have kept me waiting, Rabbit. You know I am going to punish you,” he rasped in her ear.

Hermione repressed a whimper and felt his hand slide over her bottom, giving the plump flesh of her cheek a squeeze. Nervously, she glanced back over her shoulder. She couldn’t be completely certain but was relieved that Ron was starring blankly into the shop window, as Pansy gushed about whatever it was that was so vital to her existence that she so desperately needed to own it immediately. Lucius said nothing but ushered her down the street.

Suddenly, the door to the office was closing behind them and he was wordlessly slamming Hermione up against it, pinning her arms above her head and that so often cruel mouth was assaulting her with a deep, penetrating, brutal and possessive kiss. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth, mimicking the action she longed for him to make inside her. Hermione turned to liquid against his body, panting and moaning. Unable to resist, even if she had wanted to, there was an increased urgency and she pushed back, grinding against him, seeking more. Lucius nipped at her neck, biting and claiming her, leaving a hot, damp trail where his mouth had been. Restrained and with her wrists still tightly gripped, his weight held her against the door. There was nothing else she could do but press herself against the solid shape of his body and tip her head to the side to offer up her neck as if he were a starving vampire, inviting him to take more.

Hermione squirmed against him, searching and finding him hard. Fuck how she wanted that, to touch it, taste it, feel it inside her. It ached; she ached with tormented desperation. Though she had come against his hand under the table, not thirty minutes earlier, it had only created a deeper longing and a hollow within her that thudded and screamed to be filled. He released her arm, only to grip a tight bunch of hair, yanking and dragging her ear to his mouth.

“Oh, Rabbit, wicked, wanton, naughty little Rabbit. I must punish you, lustful creature. It is my duty to correct you. Must, must, must…”

His words blurred together, and he thrust against her.

“Undress and bend over the desk.”

Hermione tore at her clothes with shaking hands, dispensing quickly with her blouse and skirt. Her cloak was already cast aside and lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Reaching down to unclip a stocking, he stopped her.

“Leave them,” he barked.

Though he still appeared in command of the situation, Hermione sensed his usual cool control was starting to break. She tried not to let him see the smirk that was forming at the victory. Positioning herself over the desk, she did as she had before, propping herself up on her elbows, bottom up, awaiting his next move. High on excitement, she looked back over her shoulder with wicked intent. Roles were almost reversed, and it was now her wondering just how far she could push Lucius.

“Please punish me, Master. I need it, _deserve _it. Make me be good.”

The muscles in his jaw tightened. It gave her satisfaction.

“Close your eyes. Tight shut. I will know if you disobey me.”

Hermione did as she was told, unable to fight she smug smile that was spreading out from the corner of her mouth. His ragged breath and unusually uneven tone pleased her. She chewed at her lip, now immersed in the sensation of his hands running up from her ankles, over the shiny fabric of each stocking, picking at the lace, then on bare flesh, ghosting over the tender points where she was sure small bruises had formed when he had pinched there, sharply under the table earlier in the day. There was still tenderness in those spots; she winced at the contact. He pressed again, reminding her of the wicked events that had led her here in the first place. It conjured the vivid and very fresh memory of coming silently in a crowded room. Soaked and shaking, Hermione felt something else tracing over the same lines. It was smooth, solid and slender. It tapped a silent command on her inner thighs, biding them to part; she complied automatically. The object worked its way up her leg, tracing the same path as his fingers had, this time advancing further, brushing lightly over the cheeks of her arse. It took a few moments to work out what it was, but now she was certain. It was Lucius Malfoy’s cane.

“Are your eyes still closed?”

“Yes,” she rasped, catching her breath as the cane barely brushed between her legs, trailing over her sodden cunt.

“I wish to hear every sound, hold nothing in.”

Hermione swallowed hard as the cane glided between her legs, crying out as it delicately caught her clit. Eyes still squeezed shut, she moaned with want and bucked her hips, finding the pace and rhythm she needed. It was delicious; she didn’t think she could stand it if he stopped and took it away. Smooth, cold and hard, she worked against it, her fat and needy clit finding friction and stimulation against it.

“Oh, such a greedy little slut. Hungry for more already?”

Hermione released a deep, guttural moan. She adored those words. Each time they sent a fresh spike of need directly to her cunt. Still he allowed her to grind out her own pleasure. She could picture the smug delight on his face at the display of needy desperation. Hermione didn’t care, but writhed against the cane’s rigid form, angling herself to gain most, whimpering as she bend her knees to press to down on it.

Without warning, it was gone.

It was an inevitable consequence, yet Hermione still felt its loss deeply, her hips still rocking, seeking it’s return. Sensing what would follow, she braced herself. There was a seemingly endless pause. Finally, the cane struck against her arse. It was barely a tap. It was enough to shock her, the intended effect obviously to throw her off guard. She had anticipated a much harder strike. No matter how much she imagined she was prepared for what Lucius would do next, it seemed like she was always wrong. Her muscles relaxed.

Smack.

This time he struck with force, hard enough for Hermione to know it would leave behind a deep, red welt. Releasing a strangled cry. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, but she hoped keeping her eyes jammed shut would stem the flow.

“Such a wicked, desperate slut, coming in such a public place. Do you wish to be watched, Rabbit? Is that it, do you want everyone to see and know what a filthy slut you are?”

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. She didn’t have any idea what she wanted anymore.

“And you kept your Master waiting. Standing talking in the street. I am most displeased.”

“I’m sorry,” she wailed.

“Do you require correction? Is that what you need? Do you need me to make it hurt and remind you how to behave?”

Hermione craved it. The sting of the first stroke of the cane had spread out but was starting to subside. She needed more.

“Yes, please. Do it. Teach me. Please.”

“Very well. You leave me with no choice, wicked little creature. There will be ten more. Count them.”

The swish of the cane alerted her the next was coming, followed by the sharp stinging sensation.

“One,” she said with determination.

Another came in rapid succession.

“Two.”

The throb between her legs competed with the hot burning that flowed from the imprint of the cane. The third and fourth came together, short and sharp. Somehow, Hermione could sense the control and restraint in his arm, limiting the pain she received. It struck her how much he could hurt her with that cane if he chose to, she wondered how much she was willing and eager to endure and if she would stop it. She had never imagined trusting Lucius Malfoy, yet she completely believed that he wouldn’t cause real harm. There was a pause. Sure that she could hear Lucius’ breath had grown erratic and ragged, she revelled in the fact that it excited him as much as it did her. He struck again; this time much harder.

“Five.”

She could hardly force the word it out, winded by the tearing pain.

The cane moved between her legs again. How she welcomed it, covering it in the sticky juices that poured out from her. Hermione sobbed, as much at the pleasure that came from the light, but delicious contact, as the pain that still burned in her behind. That pain was forgotten in an instant as she bucked wildly against its length, finding the right spot, panting hard in anticipation. Hot salty tears rolled down her face. Her cunt ached. It was snatched away as suddenly as it came.

He struck her again.

“Six.”

It was followed by a pained scream.

“Are you fit to continue?”

“Yes, Master.”

There was no hesitation. The idea of stopping was out of the question. She would take it, take it all and relish it. The safe word had never even fleetingly entered her mind.

“You are doing so well, so very well. Good girl. Four more, my pet. Count the last four.”

“Seven.”

“Eight.”

The eighth was much softer, nothing but a gentle nudge. The ninth was the hardest yet. It extracted a scream. He waited for it to subside and in the quiet, she was now certain he was panting from the effort of administering the caning, but more than that.

“This is the last. Take all of your punishment, take the last of it.”

The final stroke came.

“Ten…thank you.”

The cane immediately returned to her cunt.

“Thank you,” she sobbed again, struggling to speak.

The bliss of the friction against the throbbing, swollen bud of nerves had already distracted her from the agony. It was worth it, worth every stroke to feel this. Heat still radiated and Hermione imagined her bottom was striped and glowing.

“Come for me,” he instructed.

She could already feel it rising up, hot spikes running down her thighs and shooting up into her spine. Ready to burst, the pulsing and throbbing soreness from every blow only intensified everything she was feeling. It was already too late, Hermione was coming hard, frantically clawing for something to cling to, thrashing against the blunt instrument between her legs.

“That’s it, Rabbit, take pleasure from your pain.”

She was undone.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, oh, oh…”

She had never come as hard. Completely lost in the sensation of it, her eyes remained tightly shut as he had demanded.

“Oh, Lucius…”

Hermione had forgotten herself. With the exception of the ball, she never addressed him by his first name. It came from nowhere. Now, in this situation, he had been very clear that she should call him Master. She liked it, enjoyed the sound of it rolling from her tongue. Uncertain how he would react, she wondered if it would incur further punishment.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Master.”

“There, there, Rabbit. Open your eyes for me.”

His voice was surprisingly soothing. As she slowly opened her eyes, vision clouded by thick gloopy tears, she could make out Lucius now stood in front of her on the other side of the desk. He gently swept away a tear with his thumb and stroked Hermione’s cheek tenderly.

“You are a little emotional. I will forgive it. _This time._”

Tipping her head up from underneath her chin, his tone took on a colder, darker edge.

“Don’t do it again. Now clean it.”

Lucius presented the cane, slick and coated in her juices, where she had come against it. Uncertain at first, Hermione tentatively flicked the tip of her tongue over it, tasting her own cunt. Tentative strokes became long and enthusiastic as she ran the flat of her tongue over it greedily.

“Good girl, my good girl, be thorough. Every last drop.”

He observed her with still sparkling, but heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth hung open a little. It encouraged her. Taking a long, languid lick up the length of the cane, she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Dirty little witch,” he hissed. “There, that will do.”

“Did I do well, Master?”

“Very. Come let’s make you better.”

He gently applied a cooling balm to the burning imprints of his cane, making Hermione suck air sharply through her teeth. Sighing heavily, she became aware he had sunk to his knees behind her. Exhaled with each tender stroke of his fingers, she felt the soft caress of his lips against her still painful rump. His mouth moved across each cheek and he pushed her legs apart. The tip of his tongue probing and that tight, unexplored entrance pushed a confused, but excited sound out of her. The unexpected sensation and her initial discomfort at the idea quickly gave way to enjoyment. The feeling outweighed hesitation at the idea. Lucius lapped and tested at the opening. Hermione could only whimper in reply.

“Interesting, another time perhaps,” he said as he lifted her legs from the floor and rested them on his shoulders. This time he buried his face in her cunt. The first fine contact made her wince, still tender from coming. Lucius gripped her thighs, holding her still, forcing her to adjust and take more.

Long strokes with the flat of his tongue alternated with a flickering motion with the tip that teased and worked her clit with the speed and dexterity of a snake. How she wanted to look down and see that immaculate head of hair bobbing between her legs. She wondered if he had heard that thought, as he was suddenly hauling her onto her back, pushing her legs wider apart and spreading her pussy open with his fingers, returning his greedy mouth to its molten centre. Each curl and lick were only heightened by the still burning ache in her bottom, which was now pressed down onto the surface of the desk, a reminder of the punishment he had administered. Hermione was consumed by the onslaught of feeling and sensation. Conscious a mix of his saliva and her own excitement was dripping down her thigh onto the expensive leather, she was so utterly soaked. Almost afraid to, she reached out and raked her fingers into his hair, overtaken by the need to hold him there, desperate to prevent him from withdrawing the satisfying feel of his tongue.

There were constant changes in motion and pressure, as he attuned to her needs, until she felt it again, that insistent thumping, the tight coiling and uncoiling in her stomach. The pulsing, twitching deep within, alerted her she was close. He was all too aware of it. Lucius clamped down, sucking hard on her clit, drawing it out of her again. He did not stop. It was almost painful as he demanded more and more, his mouth still working urgently between her quivering thighs until she begged him to relent.

“Please, oh please. I don’t think I can take any more. I can’t…”

Hermione came again.

Eventually he pulled away. It was a thrill to see the usually so immaculate Lucius Malfoy seem so dishevelled. His hair was wild, his face glistening wet. He licked his lips.

“Exquisite,” he said as he wiped his mouth.

He stood between her still splayed legs. The want, the hunger, the need to have him inside her shone in her eyes.

“Please. I want…I need.”

She saw him consider it for a second. In that instant Hermione was sure he was battling his own want and that he would give in to it.

“Not today, Rabbit. Not yet.”

She growled in frustration.

“At least let me touch you.”

Reached out limply, still pleading with him, a wave of disappointment struck her. He straightened himself up, every hair seeming to fall back into its place without any coaxing.

“You are speaking out of turn. Pets do not make demands of their masters.”

Though she tried to hold it in, her eyes were filling up at the rejection.

“Don’t you want me to…I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

“Nothing. Now, enough, lest I have to punish you again for insolence. Make yourself decent.”

He was sharp and curt. Dressing herself quickly and quietly, she kept her head down and said nothing more, dressing herself in an awkward silence. Her legs were still weakened and unsteady and her unease didn’t go unnoticed.

“Come here,” he commanded.

It came as a surprise when he pulled her into his arms and rested her head against his chest as he smoothed her now wild hair. Hermione inhaled the scent of him; he still smelled of her. She felt the soft thud of his heartbeat. It made her feel things she knew she shouldn’t and a part of her screamed internally to tear herself away in an act of self-preservation. Yet it was warm and safe and steadying; she stayed.

“If you don’t want… I don’t know what you want. Is this all it is, what we do? Don’t you want, need me to…. You know what I’m asking.”

“You must be patient. You have taken to this so naturally, but there is no rush to proceed.”

Hermione huffed into his chest.

“I wonder, are you free over the weekend?”

That was an unexpected question. Hermione’s brow furrowed.

“No…I mean I have no plans, nothing important anyway.”

Guilt struck her. You had promised to spend some time with Ginny. It had been forever since they had spent time together properly. Still, Hermione contented herself that she would understand something had come up. It wasn’t like Hermione to ditch a friend for a date, not that this was a date and not that she could tell her the truth about what she was doing and who with. It wasn’t above Ginny to ditch her for something with Harry from time to time either. It seemed fair. Her mind was made up and she was already skipping ahead trying to imagine what cover story she could concoct and how to make her excuses.

“There is no obligation if you are otherwise engaged, but I should like it if you would spend some time with me at the Manor.”

Hermione’s heart missed a beat.

“At your house?”

“I will understand if you feel unable to accept the invitation.”

Lucius seemed softer and almost concerned.

“I haven’t been there in a long time. I don’t exactly have fond memories of the place.”

“It may be a cathartic experience…for us both.”

The prospect of possibly a whole weekend, whole days and nights alone with Lucius was both exciting and terrifying. It was time to let go of the past. The Lucius she had known then and the one who had made her come three times today were the same person, there was no point trying to rationalise it. Sheer lust was controlling her actions now and her cunt screamed at her to agree.

“Alright then, I’ll come.

“Of that I am most certain.”

He smirked and kissed her on the forehead.

Nodding meekly, Hermione thanked him and reluctantly let go of his solid, male frame. Wobbling again, she realised just how much he had been propping her up. 

“I can see you are of no further use in the office today. Better to delay a task than to complete it poorly. Go home. I have need to be elsewhere tomorrow, so I will send the arrangements by owl. I shall see you on Friday evening.”

“Ok, let’s do that then.”

Lucius picked up her cloak and draped it onto her shoulders.

“I’m looking forward to Friday night, Rabbit. Know that I am.”

Hermione nodded, still a hot and confused mess.

“Me too,” she whispered back.

They stood at the doorway. Lucius blocked the exit.

“I should…how do we, you know?”

Lucius cupped her face. It was soft and tender. He kissed her lips softly, teasingly, the tip of his tongue stroking softly over hers.

“Goodnight, Rabbit.”

He stepped aside opening the door.

“Goodnight, Master.”

Hermione smiled wickedly and made her way out of the office, towards home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a few words if you can. Still thirsty? Take a look at Into the Woods, my other Lumione fic. Lucius, Hermione, a secluded wood and a thunderstorm. Sound like fun?  
Cheers, Vin x


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments and following this story.  
Feel free to check out my other writing, Harry Potter or otherwise there is a bit of a theme. 
> 
> Enjoy, Vin x

Hermione needed to get home as quickly as possible; she was a mess. There was still a burning sensation and heat radiated from her arse where Lucius had caned her. Her hair was mussed and wild, though she had tidied it as best she could. Tears had taken their toll on her make up and whether it was the case or not, she felt as though she reeked of sex. Her legs still ached and were weak. The idea of the weekend at Malfoy Manor raced through her mind: anticipation; excitement and fear. Unsure how she would feel about returning there still played on her mind. Time felt strange. Everything that had happened made her feel like those events could have been yesterday, or equally a decade ago. Her memory felt hazy. Details were lost, but the feelings were still raw. She had never imagined that she could stand to look at Lucius Malfoy without hatred and disgust and now she wanted him. More than anything. It wasn’t just that. It wasn’t a regular, run of the mill relationship. Relationship, she couldn’t even call it that. It wasn’t just sex. She had entered into this willingly. She wanted it, craved it. Perhaps somewhere deep down it was healing. There was a catharsis in it for both of them. She knew Lucius hadn’t escaped it all completely unscathed. Perhaps he had changed. He had never once thrown ‘Mudblood’ at her. What frightened her now was that a small part of her wanted him to. Confusion and guilt surfaced once the fires of lust had died down.

A far simpler and more wholesome weekend had been planned. Ginny, she would have to let her down, but there was no doubt in Hermione’s mind she was going to accept the invitation to the Manor. Harry was away on Ministry business and Ginny had insisted they had a girls’ weekend and spent some time together. Hermione was going to have to duck out of it and wanted to do it as soon as possible. It was last minute as it was, leaving it any longer was even more unfair. Sending an owl seemed cowardly. She would do it face to face on Friday instead.

An owl arrived at Hermione’s flat a little before eight carrying a letter penned in Lucius’ elaborate and familiar script. Hermione tore into it with shaking hands, perhaps he had a change of heart and was withdrawing the invitation.

_You are to be a guest at Malfoy Manor this weekend. I expect your arrival at 6pm sharp on Friday evening. You will depart on Sunday. Inform no-one of your whereabouts, or the nature of your trip. Pack accordingly, my wanton little Rabbit. _

_Your Master,_

_LM_

The letter was brief and formal until the final phrase. Hermione could hear the words so clearly in her head, coming out of that delicious mouth. It made her stomach lurch. It didn’t read like an invitation, more like an order. Lucius clearly had no doubt she would turn up. A streak of wickedness and stubbornness within her made her want to refuse, just to demonstrate she couldn’t be told what to do by some man. Hermione decided it was cutting her nose off to spite her own face.

‘Pack accordingly’ wasn’t much help. What did a witch pack for a dirty weekend in a country house? She imagined she would probably need formal wear. Lucius was the type to dress for dinner, even in his own house. Hermione smirked at the idea of him in full dress robes, eating beans on toast at the end of a grand dining table. The smirk faded. Lucius was probably quite lonely in that house. She imagined it was a big place to rattle around alone. Hermione looked around her own flat. Though far more compact, with a dining table made for two, rather than twenty, she pictured herself doing exactly the same thing, eating beans on toast, very much alone. It dawned on her that they weren’t that different after all. A wave of sadness washed over her. There was an irony that after everything, it wasn’t Harry and Ron, or even Luna, or Neville or the rest of the Weasley family, but Lucius who was still there. Ginny remained a good and dear friend, but Hermione knew she was very much secondary to Harry. It was good and right; she didn’t begrudge their happiness. Even Ron seemed to have moved on in his new, if slightly odd relationship with Pansy. Why shouldn’t she have this, whatever this was and enjoy it without feeling guilt and concern for people who simply weren’t there for her anymore.

Hermione sighed. Now, what the hell to pack? She had imagined, or rather hoped, she would spend a great deal of time undressed. She picked up the letter again. No sooner had she managed to re-read it, it had disappeared in a puff of smoke and a tiny green flame. Tiny ashes floated down and then vanished. Lucius was adept at covering his tracks and destroying evidence. His farcical trial had been a testament to that particular skill.

Though she had been adamant not to dwell on those thoughts, on what he had been or what he might have done, it still frightened Hermione to imagine what he might be capable of. In the heat of the moment it was easy to forget, or at least blot it out. At worst he had participated in or even led atrocities; at best he had silently borne witness. There was undoubtedly still a streak of darkness in him. She saw it flash in his eyes from time to time when something particularly displeased him or riled him. He didn’t suffer fools gladly. Hermione didn’t expect to see anything else, yet she now saw a warmth and a softness that he tried so very hard to conceal, but she had to believe that side of him existed. Banishing those thoughts was becoming harder and harder. Lust was a straightforward feeling. She felt it when she looked at him. It beat out an insistent rhythm deep inside her. It was a want, a deep aching want, and a spark that drove her to do things and take pleasure from them in ways she never imagined she would desire. Other feelings were more complex. It wounded Hermione’s pride that he had never invited her to touch him, that the urge to fuck her hadn’t become overwhelming. That was it. Her ego was bruised. The perceived rejection didn’t hurt her for any other reason. She would keep telling herself that, hopeful his reluctance was just part of the game.

Hermione rifled through her underwear drawer, searching for something less plain and ordinary, settling on the laciest and most flimsy things she could find. As for clothes, most of what she owned seemed grossly inadequate. She contemplated packing the beautiful blue gown Lucius had given her for the ball. It seemed excessive. The slightly tired, black dress would have to do.

A whole weekend. Away from the office, with time and a bed and who knows what else. There was still a slight soreness as she sat down, a reminder of the afternoon. Now her mind raced. Hermione couldn’t help but relive it, every harsh stroke of the cane, his fingers, his mouth. Fuck, the way he had lapped at her so greedily. Though he had made her come so hard, she had craved to feel him inside her and still her starved cunt cried out for attention. It ached. It burned. She felt her own arousal soaking her underwear. Forgetting for a moment, Hermione’s fingers dipped down inside her sodden panties.

“Ouch!” she cried out.

The electrical crackle fizzed against her hand. There would be no sating of that need. Not tonight. Lucius had seen to that. Still her mind conjured torturous images. She wanted him naked, hard in her hand, in her mouth, buried deep inside her, fucking her. Hermione was a clever and skilled witch. There was no doubt, if she wanted to remove the spell, with a bit of subtle research, she could find away to free herself. Deep down she didn’t want to. There was something delicious in denial, in longing and her obstinate nature forced her to endure it. Giving in was losing, as far as she was concerned. Squeezing a cushion between her thighs, she did her best to drown out the desperate and unrelenting ache. Hermione would wait. She would hate it and love it and use it when he spanked her, when his fingers worked inside her, she would burst.

XXXX

Friday arrived. Hermione tried to work. Usually far more efficient when Lucius was absent, today was very different and distraction crept in with alarming regularity. The firm and persistent ache between her legs barely subsided. She had dreaded lunch with Ginny, now it seemed like a welcome diversion. As the clock struck one, Hermione headed out to meet her friend with the intention of buying lunch by way of an apology for letting her down at the weekend.

“A free lunch? Whatever have I done to deserve this?” Ginny grinned.

“About this weekend…”

Hermione’s friend frowned.

“I’m sorry. I know, I know I did promise and I was really looking forward to it, it’s just something came up and I can’t refuse. I hate letting you down and I wouldn’t if there was any way out of it. I’m sorry.”

Hermione was starting to ramble and shut herself up.

Ginny pouted. “Bad friend,” she said as she gave Hermione a mock slap on her hand. “Might I ask why I am being ditched?”

“I have to go away over the weekend. Sorry.”

“You’re being cagey, and you look guilty as hell. It’s him isn’t it? It’s bloody Malfoy. I’m not stupid you know.”

Hermione stopped suddenly able to feel her mouth falling open of its own accord, but unable to prevent it. Awkwardness kicked in and she squirmed in her seat, momentarily lost for words. Fighting to compose herself, she took a long gulp of her drink.

“It’s not a fun trip.” That was a lie. Hermione wasn’t a good liar, at least not to the people she cared about. “I have to work. I’m sorry. I know we had plans; I know I promised. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Business? So, Malfoy is making you work the weekend? He’s disgraceful. You should have told him you already had plans. I’ve told you before, he probably lumps you in with the house elves.”

“I’ve told you he’s not that bad. He can be…”

“What? Slightly less of an obnoxious, pompous git? A bit less of a cruel bully? Marginally less psychotic”

“I really do think he’s changed.”

Ginny huffed.

“Honestly.” Hermione looked wide-eyed at Ginny, relieved there was finally something truthful she could say.

“I’ll believe it when I see it. I have been ok with this. I really have tried. That man nearly killed me and now my best friend is his number one cheerleader.”

Hermione despised lying to her. She could hardly tell the truth. _‘Yes, I know he did all of that, but I’ve forgiven him now and actually he can be utterly delicious, and I am hoping he’s going to make me come all weekend until I can no longer walk’_. Hermione had shared everything with her, she was her closest friend, but this was a secret and had to stay that way. Work was the only excuse she could reasonably make. Hermione had no family she could claim to be visiting, short of inventing some ancient great aunt she had never mentioned before. Ginny knew all of her friends.

“I’m not his cheerleader. I’m just saying he’s really not that bad once you…get used to him. People change, Ginny. They can change.”

There was a tiny scrap of nagging doubt. She could hardly say ‘get to know him’, she didn’t really know him at all. He was as mysterious and guarded as ever.

“I still don’t trust him, I just can’t. I’m sorry. I worry about you, and him. You spend an awful lot of time in his company. Is it safe?”

Perhaps _someone_ should know who she was with and where she would be, even if they didn’t know why. How far did she trust a former Death-Eater? Enough, enough to allow him to tie her up and spank her, enough to grant him complete control over her pleasure.

“Hmm,” she looked unconvinced.

“Please trust me. I know what I’m doing. I wish people would give him a chance to redeem himself.”

“I suppose,” Ginny’s brow furrowed. “Is that all it is?”

Hermione tried not to look guilty or nervous and played dumb.

“All what is?”

“You and him? Is it just a job, work? You love a cause. I know that. Hermione Granger, the great crusader. I get that. Hell, I even admire it. Are you sure that’s all this is? You don’t want to save him, fix him whatever?”

“Of course not. What else do you think it is?” Hermione regretted that last sentence. It only invited more questions.

“You’re not…getting a bit too attached to him? You defend him, quite a lot. Ron said he saw you the other day and he was convinced that he saw…”

“What did he see?” she snapped.

“He said that you and Malfoy looked…I don’t know intimate. He was ranting about it. I didn’t get a lot of sense out of him to be honest. Ron is absolutely convinced there’s something going on. I told him it was a load of crap, but he’s made his mind up.”

“I did see Ron and he was very busy being henpecked and bullied by his new girlfriend. She really does wear the trousers there.”

It was a tactical change of subject on Hermione’s part, but it worked.

Ginny raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Yeah, he does seem to have a type.”

“Ginny Weasley are you trying to say I’m a bossy cow?”

She shrugged with a soft chuckle. “I didn’t say that.”

Hermione took it, amused and relieved that Lucius was no longer the topic of conversation.

“Well I can’t say I’m not disappointed about the weekend. Promise me we can meet up soon. I feel like I never see you. Come to the house, have dinner with me and Harry at least. Bring a date.”

“I think my plus one might be an empty chair at the moment. Invite Ron and Pansy for added awkwardness by all means. She might tell him what he can eat.”

“_Ronny, darling_,” they chimed in chorus and burst into fits of laughter.

“We’ll sort something out soon.”

“We will. I really do promise. I must get back to the office.”

Hermione hugged Ginny and kissed her cheeks.

“Yes, your lord and master will be wondering where his slave has gotten to.”

Ginny smiled broadly. Hermione had to turn her head to conceal a wicked smile. If only she knew. Thank goodness she didn’t. The secrecy and subterfuge were undeniably exciting. The thrill of the forbidden overtook any guilt at the lie. What was she becoming?

As the day wore on, she felt a buzz and the churning, nervous excitement started to mount. Barely able to wait for the end of the day to come, the clock taunted her, as it seemed to so often, with its reluctance to advance. Finally, home time came.

XXXX

Disapparating on the long, grand approach to Malfoy Manor, over-stuffed weekend bag in hand, Hermione sighed deeply. Twilight had come and gone, but the lamp-lit driveway was still peppered with the famed, white peacocks who pecked around her with complete disinterest in a new arrival; just as haughty and arrogant as their owner. Light spilled out of a few of the windows. The last time Hermione had been there, it had seemed bleak and frightening. Now it seemed very much alone, ostentatious, with an air of nobility, but set apart, concealed and isolated within the estate. The Manor that had come to symbolise bloodshed and war now seemed lost and deserted. She wondered if it was how she remembered it, or if it had changed within. Truthfully, she had seen little of the house. Did it still carry the scars of being Voldemort’s headquarters?

Puffing out a long breath, she advanced towards the door. The only sounds came from the crunching of gravel underfoot and the intermittent hooting of an owl in a nearby tree. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest. Hermione straightened up and rang the bell. After a brief, but nervous wait a disgruntled house elf answered and eyed her with suspicion.

“Hermione Granger,” she said introducing herrself politely. Reaching out to shake hands, the gesture was met with a hard stare and her arm hung awkwardly in the air. The elf’s gaze darted between her hand and her face and she licked her lips unsure how to respond to the awkward and cool reception.

“You might have heard of me. I organised SPEW.”

The elf tutted. “One of that lot, no cold callers.” He reached for the door, ready to slam it.

“Please, your master is expecting me,” she tried to reassure the doubtful elf. Her lip inadvertently twitched at those words. _Yours and mine_ danced through her mind. It made her temporarily giddy and she smiled manically. Best correct that, lest the elf would assume she was an idiot and reported back to Lucius that a grinning idiot answering to the name Hermione Granger had been at the door. The diminutive guardian at the threshold looked her up and down again. Reluctantly, and with an expression of disdain, she was eventually bidden into the house. The hallway was vast and traditional, probably as large as her entire flat. A grand, sweeping mahogany staircase framed with ornate, carved balustrades that dominated the space. A crystal chandelier hung and provided light. Still there was a dim, darkness to the place. Thick, velvet drapes hung at the huge window. Malfoy family portraits hung along wood-panelled walls. Before she could absorb anymore, Lucius appeared.

“Welcome to my humble abode.”

There was nothing humble about it, or him for that matter and Hermione was certain the irony of the statement wasn’t wasted on him either as he smiled at her wickedly. Though he didn’t fit the definition of casual, he was less ‘dressed’ than she had ever seen him before. His white shirt hung loose, and his sleeves were rolled up. Her eyes shot to the black shadow that marked his forearm.

She had always known it was there, yet seeing it with her own two eyes, in that house still had the power to shock her. She gasped, unable to hold it in. When she had visualised him naked, it was a detail her imagination had always omitted. Lucius followed her gaze to the Dark Mark on his arm.

“Yes, I am afraid it is rather permanent. It can hardly be unexpected”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen it before. I suppose I’d forgotten.”

She tried not to stare. It must have made him conscious of it and he tugged down his sleeve. The elf observed the scene curiously.

“What are you looking at?” he barked. “Take the lady’s bag, lazy beast.” The elf complied immediately, scurrying to take it from Hermione’s hand.

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

The elf looked surprised, as if courtesy and politeness were alien to him. Snatching the bag, he scurried off up the stairs.

Hermione glared at Lucius, unable to help wondering how Lucius Malfoy treated his house elves.

“Don’t even think it.”

“I was just going to ask…”

“I know what you were going to ask; I can assure you all of your _welfare _requirements have been met in this household.”

“I had to check.”

“Quite, I know such things concern you so very deeply. Are you well?” he enquired.

“Yes, very. I never thought I would be standing in your house again. It feels…odd I suppose.”

“Hmm. I can imagine.”

He beckoned her with the waggle of his index finger. Hermione approached gingerly, reminding herself that she had walked willingly into this, the first twitches and aches already alerted her to the want she felt every time she was confronted with Lucius Malfoy. Without warning, he raked her into his arms and kissed her roughly and hungrily. His lips and teeth bruised and nipped at her mouth and his hands dragged her in by the waist. Lucius’ tongue invaded her mouth forcefully and she could do nothing but melt against him, coiling her arms around his neck to cling on. He snatched it away as suddenly as it came, leaving Hermione breathless and dizzy.

“Good girl. I trust you have told no-one as I instructed?”

“I had to tell a friend something.”

Ginny had badgered her as they were leaving after lunch. Put on the spot, she had to come up with something quickly. There was no way she was going to let it lie. He raised an eyebrow.

“And where does this friend of yours believe you are?”

“A secretarial convention.”

He sucked in his cheeks in amusement.

“In Sheffield,” she added.

He smirked again and gave Hermione a disdainful look that she came to realise the house elf had evidently learned to mirror over the years.

“How dreary that would be. I hope you will find your time here far more…stimulating than the drab alternative you conceived as a cover.”

“I don’t know. I hear secretarial conventions are a real hot bed of sin and excitement, jam packed with horny office workers, desperate to let their hair down.”

Hermione felt naughty and flirtatious. Lucius pressed against her, his hands sliding over the curve of her arse. She let out a stifled moan and bit her lip. He leant in close, the feel of his breath against her ear made her stomach flip. The tightening in her belly constricted sharply. That omnipresent ache thumped hard inside.

“Is that what you are hopping for?”

“Would you like it to be?”

“I am curious about your expectations. You seem so preoccupied with certain things. Why is that?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He stroked his palm across her bottom.

“Is this still sore?”

He slapped gently. Hermione gulped.

“A little.”

“And do you still like that? Does it make you ache? Is that why you are so obsessed with sex?”

“I never said I was.”

“Oh, but you are, so desperate it seeps from your pores. It burns in those wicked and lustful eyes of yours. I can smell it on you. I have no doubt you and wet now, ripe and ready, eager, needy. Are you all wet for me now?”

“Yes,” she rasped.

“Already? It takes so little to stimulate you.”

“Yes, I need, I want…”

“Do I torment you cruelly? Does it ache so badly it causes you pain and discomfort?”

“Yes, yes, yes. You know it does.”

Frustration bubbled barely beneath the surface. She ground against him. Lucius laughed in amusement.

“Excellent,” he said, “dinner is at 7.30 sharp. I demand my guests are punctual.”

He released her, leaving her shook and panting. Inhaling sharply through her nose, she stood up straight, smoothing her clothes down.

“Do you dress for dinner?” she tried to ask casually.

“Of course. Do you take me for a savage?” he said indignantly, the stern expression evaporating into a far more mischievous one. “You, my Rabbit, will not be dressing for dinner. Far from it.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, trying to make sense of what he had just implied.

“What do you mean?”

“No, you shall undress for dinner.”

“You mean I should come down to dinner…”

“Naked, wearing not a stitch.”

She struggled to prevent her jaw from dropping. She hadn’t seen that coming. The thought had never crossed her mind. She couldn’t even be certain they would be alone. At the very least the house elves would see. There was no answer, struck dumb by the request, no words came. Yet, that tightening in her stomach was there. It was a challenge.

“Do I make myself clear on the matter?”

“But, what about…?”

“You _will_ do as I say, Rabbit.”

His voice was harsh and unforgiving.

“Yes. Ok. I can do that.”

There was a sharp tug at her hair.

“Are you forgetting yourself?”

“Yes, Master.” The want inside her to would not allow her to refuse.

“Better.”

He released his grip on her.

“Finchley,” he bellowed. “Show the lady to the guest room.”

The idea of the guest room was already confusing to her. Having imagined she would share his bed; she had assumed that’s where her things would be and where she would be taken. Hermione struggled to come up with a reason why he would conceal the nature of her visit within his own home, particularly as he was commanding her to join him for dinner without any clothes. Perhaps it was some tradition or for the sake of appearances. Either way, she decided not to challenge it.

“Now go and make whatever preparations you require. Finchley will provide you with anything you may need, draw you a bath and the like.”

With that he was gone, leaving Hermione to silently follow the still disgruntled elf to her room.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, you lovely lot. Something a bit different and perhaps not everyone’s cup of tea.   
Much BDSM fic explores spanking, restraint etc. so I thought I would offer a slightly different angle. If it’s not for you, but you have enjoyed the rest of the fic, the next chapter will probably be more to your tastes, so please stick with me on this!
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments, subscriptions and kudos, it is loved and appreciated.
> 
> Enjoy, Vin x

The angry elf showed Hermione to a guest room. Taking a moment to absorb her new surroundings, it felt a world away from the darkness she had experienced in the same building. It was lavish to say the least. An imposing king size, four poster bed sat in the centre of the room, its heavy, red curtains were tied off with thick, gold, braided ropes. It would have completely dominated and filled most bedrooms, but not here. A door to the right led to her own bathroom, it sat open, teasing an equally opulent space with an enormous, claw-footed bathtub. Hermione’s bag was already waiting, emptied and unpacked by the surly but industrious elf.

“Will that be all,” the elf barked.

“Yes, thank you Finchley. You have been most kind.”

The elf fumbled and bowed his head.

“The Master mentioned a bath.”

“Yes, I’m sure I can manage.”

Hermione was still uncomfortable with the idea of house elves waiting on people hand and foot. She hadn’t grown up with it, she had fought for better, yet he seemed determined to do everything someone could imagine and adamant he would fulfil his duty. Finchley looked at her almost pleading with her to allow him to do as he felt he should.

“Finchley must do it,” he muttered as he had already made his way through the door and set about drawing a bath before she could object any further.

While she had a moment alone, Hermione inspected the room further; it was dark and expensive, much like the rest of the house from what she could gather. It suited him. Large French doors hid behind thick jacquard curtains and she peeped out. Deep in December, the twilight was long gone, outside there was only darkness, not a streetlamp or even the distant headlights of a muggle car to be seen. She imagined it would be quite a view in the sunlight. Miles away from anywhere, nobody knew where she was, in the home of a former…

A small cough broke that train of thought. Finchley had emerged from the bathroom.

“It’s ready, there are towels and bubbles. The Mistress didn’t like them, but I thought you might.”

Hermione squirmed at the thought of Narcissa Malfoy. Though she was long gone, discomfort at the idea she was an imposter in her house spiked through her. Hermione was in her former home. From what she understood their marriage had fallen apart soon after the war and she and Lucius barely spoke, if at all. She held no grudge towards Narcissa, it seemed to Hermione that she had done what a loving mother would do under the circumstances. It was the thought of Narcissa that conjured the far more unpleasant image of her sister. In a reflex action her hand shot to her arm, to the place where that word had been cut into her flesh and the pain it had caused lived again for a moment. Shuddering she pushed it aside. The elf stood scowling but waiting patiently.

“How wonderful. You are too good, the most conscientious house elf I have ever met,” she smiled down at him broadly.

This time the tiny elf’s features softened, and he seemed to blush a little.

“Is that all you need, Mistr…Miss.”

“Yes, that’s all.”

He bowed and left.

Hermione sunk down into the hot, soapy water and let out a long sigh. Narcissa’s dislike of a bubble bath was an odd thought. Still she imaged her stern-faced and disapprovingly demanding to know what she was doing in her house. Her imagination sparked and Hermione found herself trying hard not to imagine what it would be like to be the Mistress of Malfoy Manor, living there in that luxury. It was a tempting thought when she visualised the confines of her pokey flat.

Realistically, she knew as little about Lucius as she did on the day of the interview, other than she wanted him more than life itself. Wicked thoughts came to her. The temptation to slip her hand down between her legs crossed her mind, until she remembered it was not only forbidden, it was barred.

Mindful of the time, she finally dragged herself up and wrapped up tightly in one of the extra-large fluffy towels that had been left by Finchley. Once patted dry, Hermione would normally go about dressing herself, tonight that wasn’t the case and she almost felt lost for what to do next. Her stomach lurched at the idea of padding around a strange house completely naked and she eyed up a long robe that hung on the back of the door. Perhaps she could slip it on and remove it later. Letting out a sigh, she knew immediately that Lucius would be displeased if she emerged wrapped up in a dressing gown. The idea of her disobedience being reprimanded and punished came with its own attractions. Still, it felt like a challenge, a dare even and she was determined not to show weakness and fail at the first hurdle.

She contemplated whether she should wear shoes. Did they count? Deciding they weren’t clothing she slipped her feet into a pair of plain, black, heeled court shoes. They elevated her and gave her a boost of much needed confidence. Hermione set about applying some make up. It made her feel slightly ‘ready’ and afforded a slender veil of protection from feeling utterly bare. Finishing with a light dusting of blush that might conceal some of the real flush in her cheeks, she inspected herself in the mirror. Hermione picked up a deep red lipstick and slicked it on with a wicked smirk. Excitement and fear rose and subsided in waves. Glancing at the clock, it was now or never.

Tentatively, she turned the door handle, closed her eyes and stepped out onto the wide landing. By the time Hermione reached the staircase, she had fought to push the thought of her nudity to the back of her mind. Still, her stomach churned, uncertain of what would be waiting downstairs, yet she was compelled to continue. As she rounded the corner, she saw Lucius waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He scanned her briefly, suppressing a smirk. Dressed immaculately in black, he examined his pocket watch.

“Punctual at least I see, and _appropriately _dressed for the occasion. My what a _good girl_ you are,” he almost purred.

She took another step, cursing her heels as she was unsteady on her feet, dizzy almost.

He outstretched an arm to guide her down the last few stairs. Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest. Embarrassment still wrestled with excitement. It wasn’t as if he had never seen her in a state of undress, yet the circumstances felt very different and she felt too shy and exposed to make eye contact. All the same, she was completely aware of the tightening inside her, of the growing ache and heat within her. Perhaps she shouldn’t feel this, but she did, intensely and with growing urgency.

“Come, Finchley has prepared us a feast in the dining room.”

Hermione gulped. She had forgotten the household staff and found herself nervously gripping Lucius’ forearm, seeking reassurance.

“Don’t look so worried. I have given him the rest of evening to attend to other duties. I wish to dine in private.”

A wave of relief washed over her.

The vast expanse of the Malfoy dining room was lit with an uncountable number of candles. A long, highly-polished table dominated the space. Two places were set, each at opposite ends. Lucius led Hermione to take a seat in one of the oversized carver chairs at the far end of the table. She glanced down at the setting, immediately noting the absence of any cutlery. Perhaps it was an oversight, though she didn’t imagine errors were very well tolerated in this household and the elf seemed so conscientious. At least she could be grateful that they were alone.

“Sit,” he commanded.

Hermione silently obeyed. Lucius produced fine lengths of rope and positioned her hands flat against the substantial arms of the chair. He slowly and precisely bound each wrist without a word. The rope coiled neatly around her delicate wrists, pulling them tight against the flat, wooden arm rest, restricting her movement. She couldn’t help but let out a small gasp, as a knot of desire tightened in her belly and battled with confusion as he turned his attention to the other arm and secured it equally firmly. Perhaps he wasn’t going to allow her to eat at all.

“Part your legs.”

Hermione swallowed hard. He had bound her before, it had made her heart race and soaked her cunt, but shame still reddened her face. She complied. Lucius bound each ankle in turn, focused intently on the task, lashing her to the weighty legs of the chair.

“Perfect,” he said as he tugged at the knots.

She felt it, barely noticeable and a detail that may have been easily missed. Lucius tested gently, almost pressing beneath the ropes adjusting and perfecting what he had done. It suddenly occurred to her; he was inspecting to see if the bonds were tight enough to restrict her without cutting off the circulation in her legs. There was a comforting degree of care and tenderness in the action to make her feel safe and reassured.

Even so, finding herself completely restrained, she instinctively tugged at the rope, wriggling against it, testing her own ability to move. Lucius perched on the edge of the table and smirked at Hermione’s predicament as he filled two wine glasses and place one down in front of her.

“A toast, Rabbit, to a most enjoyable evening.”

Lucius took a drink. She stared up at him in disbelief.

“How rude of me. What a terrible host I am. Here let me assist you.”

Picking up the glass, he held it to her lips, though she tried to catch the liquid it spilled as he tilted the glass. Wine trickled down over her breasts. Without hesitation he bent his head and ran the tip of his tongue over each droplet of dark red liquid. Each flick was precise and delicate. A sharp pinch of his teeth on her nipple sent a sharp jolt directly to her core and Hermione let out a groan. Though she had barely taken a mouthful, she felt dizzy, almost drunk on lust.

“A great shame to waste such a fine Merlot, don’t you think?”

Barely able to nod in absent-minded agreement, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as he stroked her cheek. Lucius returned his mouth to her hardened, wine-soaked nipple and took another teasing suck.

“My perfectly captured little Rabbit. How that heart thumps in your chest. Your table manners leave much to be desired, we must improve your etiquette.”

If she hadn’t been so utterly transfixed, she would have snapped back with a retort about her obvious lack of control over the mess. She got as far as opening her mouth to protest but were silenced by the sharp pinch of his teeth on the tender nub of flesh he was so keenly tormenting. Hermione gasped.

Lucius slowly raised his head until she felt the soft, barely-there brush of his lips over hers. Sighing softly, heat pooled between her thighs, growing more urgent with every second. Lucius looked into her eyes, now wide and glossy with lust and he held her chin preventing Hermione from looking away. He was right, she was completely captive, the rapid rise and fall of her chest was visible, the short pants she made as she struggled to regulate her breathing were audible. Time stopped, until Lucius broke the spell.

“Now, dinner, we must eat,” he said casually, leaving her to contain her own frustration at his torment.

Though the elves were not present to serve, everything was laid out in preparation at the side of the room. He summoned two bowls, setting one down in front of Hermione, the other landing softly and precisely at the opposite end of the table where his own place was set. He purposefully made his way to his seat and nonchalantly began to eat. Hermione looked down at the warm bowl in front of her. It did smell good, she was incredibly hungry, but at a loss as to what she could do about it.

“Come along, eat up.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

He looked up at her incredulous and continued.

“I can’t…”

“Address me properly if you expect an answer.”

With a look of displeasure, he took another spoonful of his soup.

“Master?”

“Yes,” he snapped.

“How am I to eat if I can’t move and have no spoon?”

Lucius scoffed.

“Are you, or are you not a pet?”

“Yes,” she rasped.

“And who ever heard of a pet eating their dinner with silver cutlery? You can bow your head, can’t you?”

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, now beginning to understand exactly what he expected of her.

“Yes, but I…”

Tears prickled. Is this really what he expected? He couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Surely this was some kind of trick or joke. Hermione knew she could stop this, if she thought about that one word for a moment. Attuned to that thought, he picked up on her doubt immediately.

“Of course, I can untie you. You may eat your dinner as you wish and retire to bed…_alone_._”_

He spoke calmly and coolly, as if her reply was of no consequence to him.

It was a test, of something. She was unsure if it was loyalty, compliance or obedience. She had imagined a lot of things he might ask her to endure, she was mentally prepared for them, this was unexpected. ‘Bluebird’ drifted in and out of her mind. He studied her face intently, searching her eyes for signs of refusal. She pushed it aside and instead tested him.

“Why am I doing this?”

“A deep and existential question for a mere pet to ask, I must say,” he replied undeterred.

“This. Why are you asking me to do this?”

“You are no obliged to do it, you remember how to bring it to an abrupt end.”

“I never said I wanted it to end. I want to know why _this_?

He considered the request for a moment.

“It displeases me that you question your Master in such a way, I would not normally tolerate such dissent.”

“I need to know why.”

“It is very simple, Rabbit. We have begun to test your willingness to endure pain, now we must test your willingness to endure other forms of obedience. If you don’t have the stomach for it of course, I will understand completely.”

“I…I…”

“Will do as your Master commands.”

He was right, though Hermione was truly beginning to understand what he meant about limits. Composing herself silently, she made a choice. Whatever she felt about his request, the thumping, urgent need inside her, to please him, and to submit won out and she pushed herself to comply. Stifling a sob, Hermione leant forward until she reached the fine china bowl and cautiously flicked out her tongue. It was delicious. She awkwardly lapped at the contents of the bowl, aware he was watching every movement, a smug look of satisfaction etched on his beautiful face.

“Good girl, eat up, I do like to see a girl with a healthy appetite.”

Hermione looked up at him, tears were forming, but she dipped her head down again and continued.

“Such a good pet, you must be starved. Are you hungry, pet?”

“Uh huh,” she barely managed in response.

The scene played out. She would catch him drawing in his cheeks in sadistic amusement, tutting occasionally in disgust. Though she knew she had become as adept as she possibly could at consuming the starter like a cat, she was also acutely aware that she now truly was a mess, her face covered, soup dripping down from her chin. Her cheeks burned from the shame and humiliation, yet she could not and would not stop.

Lucius had finished and delicately dabbed at the corner of his mouth with an immaculate, white napkin. Rising elegantly to his feet, he returned to the other end of the table. He tilted Hermione’s head up to inspect her.

“How was your soup, Rabbit?”

“Delicious, thank you,” she replied with as much edge as she could muster.

“Spoiled little thing,” he said as he tucked her hair behind your ear, “what a terrible mess. We must clean you up. That simply will not do. Filthy bitch.”

His words were harsh and brutal, but they spiked something within her. In spite of them, he gently wiped her face clean.

A feeble ‘thank you’ tumbled out.

“Am I not good to you?”

“Yes, Master.”

This time he brushed her lips with more force, lingering as his tongue darted into her mouth that had automatically opened to beg for more. He pulled away. Hermione tried to follow his mouth in a silent plea for more, writhing at the restraints that still pinned her into the chair.

“Ah ah.”

Lucius waggled his finger as if she was a wayward puppy.

“Please,” she managed hoarsely.

He pressed his forefinger to her lips, shushing her before it trailed it slowly and deliberately down her body. The anticipation was almost painful, as he lingered over her stomach, his eyes fixed on Hermione’s, until finally he teased between soft, sticky folds.

Hermione stifled a moan as he delicately tormented her, pressing, parting her with his index finger and running it lightly over the length of her willing cunt.

“My, Rabbit. How very wet you are. How can it be so? Bound and eating like an animal and yet here you are, soaked, dripping, desperate.”

His finger pressed again at her opening, provoking the urge to rock against him and demand more. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to still herself and resist.

“Oh, so very desperate. Do you know what I think?”

“No, Master.”

“I think you are a terribly wanton slut. Is that so?”

The words stung and thrilled her in equal measure. She could barely speak.

“Well?” he demanded, pinching a taut nipple hard between his finger and thumb.

“Yes.”

It was a cry, a yelp, almost pained as she strained to hold her hips still, that wickedly tempting finger still there, but not quite, not deep enough to satisfy and quench her desperate lust.

“Yes, what? Tell me what you are.”

“I’m…”

He pinched again, this time twisting and tugging, dragging it out. It sent a jolt through her body, forcing her to fight harder to contain the half-sob and half-moan of pleasure she wanted to release.

“I’m…a wanton slut.”

Lucius instantly rewarded it with one finger, then another coiling inside her eager cunt. Her response seemed to please him. Hermione knew she should be horrified, but the pleasure he seemed to take from her obedience only made her wetter. Still containing needy mewls, she was conscious she was so completely soaked and dripping down onto the upholstery.

“Wicked, filthy whore, look how you want it, need it, live for it.”

“Yes, oh please, Master, please. I am. I am. I need it so badly. Please.”

She could already feel herself edging closer. The heat rising, that knot tightening, making her want to scream and beg and buck against him as he fingered her roughly, deeply. Warmth was spreading out, hot and tingling sensations. He tugged and pulled at her now raw and tender nipple. The ache and burn felt delicious. Need grew. So close.

“Please, Master, please can I come?”

Lucius’ expression of lustful delight instantly snapped into a look of indifference.

“Absolutely, fucking, not.”

It was gone. Snatched away. Hermione could only slump back in her seat, panting and frustrated.

Lucius returned to his seat at the head of the table and summoned two plates of food. Hermione looked down; venison in a dark, rich sauce. Her heart sank, but she waited, still breathless, for instruction.

“Eat, it’s delicious.”

She looked down again, tears once more welling, but ready to make herself comply. He carried on dispassionately. Crying now, saltwater pouring down both cheeks, she breathed in deeply. Still she was going to do as she was told, without questioning this time. As she leant forward, she felt the ropes holding her wrists loosening themselves and falling away, freeing her hands. A knife and fork floated down and landed in their proper position. Still she waited.

“Rabbit,” he said. There was a hint of a question in his tone. “Eat your dinner…like a lady.”

Hermione nodded meekly and picked up her cutlery and felt something unexpected: disappointment.

What the hell had Lucius Malfoy done to her?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been forever! Sometimes life and other things get in the way, although I did think I had posted this chapter already. Fear not there is another on it's way very soon too. I hope you are all still out there.   
As always, thank you for your kind words and kudos. I haven't abandoned writing, but it is taking me a little longer to get things updated at the moment. Thank you for your patience, Vin x

Dinner concluded in an almost civilised fashion. Hermione had virtually forgotten that she was naked and bound to a dining chair and Lucius barely acknowledged it. Though the conversation was light, he was sure to make the odd innuendo-laden remark and take visible pleasure as she squirmed in her seat.

“I trust your meal is _satisfying_?” he purred.

“Very,” she said.

“And not too _filling_? I would hate to think you are already _stuffed_, before the final course.” A wicked twinkle danced in his eyes.

Hermione smirked.

“I hope to be very full by the end of the evening.” Those desperate and needy thoughts returned and tugged at her like an invisible cord. Damp heat was stoked once more. The hollowness and need to be fucked once more appeared and threatened to consume her. She glanced down at him at the opposite end of the table. Once more he seemed distant and unmoved. His face returned to its stony and most unmoved expression.

“Hmm. You will receive what I see fit to give you.”

The meal was over. He set down his cutlery. Lust flared in the pit of her stomach. What now? He rose steadily to his feet and made the walk down the lengthy dining table at a leisurely pace. His eyes twinkled in the candlelight, still filled with wicked intent. Hermione waited silently for instruction, repressing the urge to whine, or plead, or beg in sheer frustration. Her cunt throbbed.

“Come now, Rabbit. We shall retire to the drawing room,” he drawled as he untied each rope at her wrists and then ankles with care and attention. Though they had not been over-tight, her wriggling and writhing in the chair had caused them to chafe and rub against her skin. Fine red rope burns stung lightly as they were undone. The light brush of his fingertips as he untied her, on bended knee carefully and with a certain reverence renewed and intensified the hot sensation at her ankles.

Too shell shocked to respond coherently, Hermione nodded, open-mouthed and already breathless, inhaling sharply as his thumb grazed over the red bands the restraints had left around each wrist. Lucius extended a hand to her and she took it meekly and unsteadily pulling herself upright.

“Come along then,” he instructed.

As she began to follow him, he stopped abruptly.

“Oh no, pet, perhaps you forget your place. He closed the space between them and whispered, deep and low into her ear. “Pets may crawl behind their masters.”

Stunned, Hermione swallowed hard and for a second questioned if she should continue, but she had come this far. An ache, a desperate longing that persistently drummed between her thighs drove her on. Lucius was scowling and pointing towards the floor and Hermione found herself obediently sinking to her hands and knees. Sighing deeply as she followed, every feeling was amplified, the burn of the dense, plush carpet against her knees, then the harsh but slippery surface of the polished, wooden floor as she found herself crossing the hallway into the equally grand drawing room. Fear and exertion forced the muscles in her arms to tighten. Occasionally she dared to glance upward at the striking, black-clad figure in front of her, striding about his own house, his unmistakable blonde hair swishing down his back. Want burned harder.

The drawing room was as vast as the rest of the house, dominated by a grand stone mantle with a fire roaring in the deep inglenook below. A wide, wing-back chair with an ornate side table sat in front of it. Lucius nonchalantly poured himself a large brandy from a fine crystal decanter and sat down in the chair: his chair.

“Come,” he beckoned.

Hermione crawled towards him with purpose and determination, purposefully swinging her hips and arching her back. She would make him want and ache the way she was, give him no option but to sate his own desires and hers in the process. He observed her with approval. Only the thudding of her heartbeat and her flushed cheeks would betray there was any doubt. Now, perhaps now the reward would come.

Lucius idly poured himself a cognac from a fine crystal decanter, swirling it in the glass before taking a sip. The petulant sneer she had once hated now urged her on.

She reached his feet and looked up at him, licking her lips suggestively. Kneeling to push her breasts upward, drawing on everything she had to incite him to snap and lose his cool. Lucius shuffled in his chair and she sensed victory. He knew it. It flashed in his eyes and as if he realised, she had seen a flicker of weakness, he once more snatched control and dominance.

“Turn.” He gestured that she should shuffle around until she was perpendicular at his feet on her hands and knees. Hermione responded with silent compliance; eyes tightly shut.

She felt the brush of fingertips across her cheek, through her hair, tracing the outline of her spine. It was the faintest of contacts, light and barely there, then it was gone. It was enough to quicken her breath and send the warm tingle of need through every nerve. Fingers returned, ghosting up her inner thigh. She couldn’t help it, a strangled, needy whimper escaped her lips. Lucius lingered for a second, so close, so desperately close he must be able to feel the damp heat radiating from her aching cunt. Hermione held her breath. It was all she could do to contain the need to scream or beg or allow herself to wail and sob in frustration. Eternal seconds of waiting came to nothing. Lucius tutted and withdrew. This time she could not contain a growl of frustration.

“Impatient are we, Rabbit? You must know that well behaved and loyal pets sit at their masters’ feet.”

“Please,” she rasped, “please I…”

“Shush now. Lest I have to discipline you.”

Lust spiked within her again, but she silenced herself, fighting an urge to purposely carry out any misdemeanour she could think of. There was no smack or spank, instead there was the feel of smooth, polished leather on her back and a weight pressing her downward. It took a moment to register exactly what was happening, but she soon realised that the leather belonged to his boot and she was now a footstool. Outrage fought with the desire to be obedient. Humiliation burned. Lucius said nothing; time lost its meaning. Discomfort and shame once more forced tears to form and she tried in vain to hold them in. Still he ignored her and her back started to ache from the effort. Still Hermione questioned why she was enduring this. She didn’t stop it, she stubbornly refused. It was another challenge and she would meet it. He had promised to test her limits and the competitive edge in her refused to concede.

“Who do you belong to, Rabbit?”

“You. I belong to you.”

“And you will obey me and do as I instruct?”

“Yes, Master,” she whimpered.

“Why, Rabbit. Why do you obey so well?”

“Because I like it?”

“You like it?”

“I love it. I want it and I need it.”

“But you are such a wanton, lowly slut. Are you content with that slut?”

She adored it. Every time those words spilled from his mouth, it made her want all the more.

“Yes, please, yes.”

Shoulders shaking as she silently sobbed, she heard the glass clank down on the side table. Finally, he relented. The weight shifted from her back.

“Come now,” he said as he directed her up onto her knees and turned her to face him, her head resting on his lap. He reached down to dab away the tears and gently stroked her hair. She revelled in it, lived for it and sighed deeply as he cupped her face and bent down to barely brush over her lips with his. This time he did not pull away, but his tongue slipped into her open mouth, invasive and possessive yet gentle. Urgent need poured out and it wasn’t all hers. His fingers twisted into her hair, tilting her head. When he started to move away, she tried to follow, unable to bare not to be joined, but he broke it, leaving her panting heavily and wide eyed.

“How loyal and obedient you are, such a good girl, _my _good little Rabbit. You have been perfect. Done all I have asked of you. What do you want? You may have what you wish more than anything. Tell me and claim your reward.”

Looking up at him, she considered for a moment. Her own need drummed inside her but was overtaken by the hunger for the one thing that had been denied; him.

“Anything? Anything I want?”

“Anything.” He smiled, not with his usual wicked sarcasm. Hermione felt a softness and a warmth she had not seen before as if she had genuinely pleased him. She liked that feeling and she knew what she wanted.

“You.”

His eyebrow shot up as she boldly slid a hand up this thigh.

“I want…I need to touch you. Please. Please let me.”

It was true. More than anything in that moment she longed to touch him, taste him, please him, see him come apart for her and seize back some control. She would have gladly begged.

Lucius smirked.

“Oh Rabbit, glorious Rabbit. Now you are ready. Perfection. Utter perfection. You can ask for anything your heart desires. Any pleasures you want and instead you would choose to beg to please your Master. Now you are the perfect pet.”

He was swift to his feet, scooping her up and lifting her into his arms. She coiled around his neck and buried her face into him as he carried her with ease towards the grand staircase. Fear that the house elves would see her in a state of undress had long since vanished. The warmth and contact as he held her tightly heartened her, made her forget in an instant any discomfort or humiliation she had felt. The journey was a blur and she clung on tightly.

If his arms were tiring, he gave no indication and Hermione found herself being gently deposited on the bed in the guest room where the evening had begun. Lightheaded and almost delirious she watched him undress. Though he appeared calm and unhurried, she was certain she saw a slight unsteadiness in his hand. It was fleeting.

Now he stood gloriously naked at the foot of the bed, masculine, athletic but not overly muscular. Hermione’s breath hitched, she had imagined him like this, longed for it and wanted it. Now it was here it felt surreal. Her eyes fell to his cock, hard and ready. Hunger surged. Hermione drew herself to the edge of the bed. Running her palms down his chest she followed them with a trail of damp kisses. Sinking lower, she fed on every twitch, every small and restrained reaction to her touch. She thrived and revelled in the tensing of his body as she brushed against his cock and it only fuelled her further, almost daring her to lift her head and gaze at him wantonly. It seemed so unfair that Lucius was the only one allowed to tease and torment. He allowed it but not for long. Elegant fingers raked into her hair and pushed her head lower. It amused Hermione to resist a little and test his patience. That didn’t last long either.

“Mouth,” he commanded roughly and unceremoniously.

She didn’t need to be asked twice, the order aroused her. Though she had briefly toyed with the idea of denying him and pushing him to drag her to it, Hermione’s own urgency was just as great as his. She wanted it as much as he did. Bowing her head as instructed she drew a slow, languid lick down the length of his thick cock. His audible intake of breath excited her, and she repeated the action, lapping wickedly at the sensitive tip, producing another of those twitches he could not conceal.

“Mouth, now.”

She obeyed, opening wide and taking the thick, hard length of him as deep as she could, drawing him in and out, still at a steady pace. Lucius allowed her control for a moment, but as she pushed a little deeper something broke within him. He gripped her hair in a tight bunch and dragged her back and forth until the rhythm of his hips took over and he fucked her open mouth. She took it and adored it, the scent and taste of his arousal, the feel of him, smooth and solid and the occasional suppressed sound of pleasure she extracted.

“Good girl, such a good girl, take it, take it all. Eager cock-sucking slut.”

His words and thrusts grew rougher and sharper, breaks in his voice told her his cool exterior was starting to crack. It was everything.

Lucius slowed and thrust deep, as far as he could go. She felt him hit the back of her throat, repressing her need to gag and instead enjoyed the feeling of his full, hardness in her mouth. Her starved cunt cried out to feel the same. He pulled back. She lapped and swirled her tongue over the head, tasting the first delicious drops of his come forming and leaking. She sucked and swallowed eagerly.

“Enough,” he barked and suddenly pulled away.

Though greedy to take him back into her mouth, he was already pushing Hermione back onto the bed, parting her legs and positioning himself between them. There was an automatic and uncontrolled buck of her hips. Need drove her and she was liquid underneath him, a hot mess of untamed hunger.

“Oh yes, you do want it so very badly, desperate, aching.”

He stroked the tip of his cock over her slickened folds, forcing a pitiful cry from her lips. It was all true, she was lost and desperate.

“Beg me,” he smirked.

“Please.”

“Oh, you can do better than that, beg me.”

“Please, Master. I need you inside of me. Fuck me. Oh please. I will beg. I am begging.”

“Better, needy, greedy slut.”

“Yes, please I am. I’ll do anything. Please I need it.”

He stroked his cock down the sticky length of her slit. She moaned deeply, almost sobbing with need.

“Please, please.”

Her pleas were answered as he pressed inside her wet, willing cunt. It was delicious, instantly satisfying the urgent want within you as he filled her. She adored the stretch as he pushed into her and she opened for him.

“You are tight, witch,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “So. Fucking. Tight.”

He thrust harder, breaching her and filling her. It was everything. The sting lasted only for a second and then melted into a feeling of completeness and satisfaction. Hermione clawed at him urgently, holding him there, her nails raking down him back, urging him to move within her. She drew her nails down again, harder this time, with enough force to draw blood.

He hissed again. “Bitch.” And drew himself up onto his knees still deep within her. He gripped her hips and dragged her pliant body back and forth fucking her roughly and with force. He moved with a natural rhythm that she fell into at once, slow at first. Remembering the rules for a moment, she somehow managed to repress a moan.

“Make noise. I need to hear you come for my cock.”

He moved harder and faster, burying himself within her as she whimpered and whined for more, barely able to see or think coherently. Wordlessly, she demanded more and more. He held her still, withdrawing almost completely. Pinning her still as she writhed to push him back deep into her. Finally, he relented and drove back deep into her.

“Oh, you tight little wench, that perfect cunt fits me so well. You are mine. _It_ is mine.”

Lucius’ teeth were gritted now.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, Master, I’m yours.”

“Tell me, what is mine?”

“Everything, all of it, it’s yours.”

“Tell me what’s mine?” he repeated.

She understood what he wanted.

“My cunt, my pleasure, they are yours. I am yours.”

It drove him on, but it was Hermione who was coming undone, tingling heat spread out from her molten core through her body; her thighs shook.

“Come for me. Wicked, wanton, needy little slut. Come for your Master’s cock.”

The pace was relentless now, rough and bruising. There was no going back, and she lost herself in it. She was shattering underneath him, clinging on tightly to his shoulders, coming harder than she ever had done before. It seemed endless as she rode out every wave of pleasure, gripping him within her, until there was nothing left. Lucius wasn’t far behind her. Even in her present state she could feel the tensing of his body and the signs he was close. She couldn’t resist.

“Master, my Master let me make you come. Come inside me, please.”

He did. With a sharp jerk and strangled sound, she felt each shot of his hot come as he emptied himself inside her. They remained still for a moment, before Lucius collapsed onto the bed beside her, spent and drained. There was silence but for heavy breath and the pounding of hearts.

Turning to face her, he caught a solitary tear rolling down Hermione’s cheek and frowned.

“It’s alright, it’s fine. It’s a good thing. I’m just…”

Unable to put her finger on the right word or feeling, she searched for what she wanted to say.

“Overwhelmed,” he said with a surprising amount of composure and coolness.

It was matter of fact. Lucius was clawing back his control. It wasn’t an enquiry, no, he was arrogant and self-assured enough to tell her with conviction what he knew her to be feeling. Irritatingly, he was probably right.

“I understand, this evening has been somewhat intense. Know you have done so wonderfully. More than I could have hoped or imagined. Feel no guilt or shame. This is who and what you are. Embrace it. Enjoy it, savour every delicious moment of it.”

There was a softness as he held her close and allowed her head to fall on his chest. Idly stroking her hair, he lifted Hermione’s still red and tender wrist to his lips and kissed it delicately. Tilting her head up, they found each other, tongues knotting together instinctively and without the force or possessiveness she had grown accustomed to. Lazy and sensual, the kiss seemed to last an eternity, yet ended too soon. Lucius was shuffling out from under her and drew the bed covers back, ushering her underneath them.

“Come on, into bed. You are thoroughly exhausted and must rest.

“I want to go to bed, but not to rest,” Hermione said more with mischief than intent.

He seemed to consider it briefly.

“Rest now, you will need your strength for tomorrow’s activities I promise you.”

Patting at the empty space beside her, she bid him to join her in bed, lazily reaching out a limp hand to catch him and keep him there. He took it.

“I must rest too.”

Hermione sighed.

“Then we’ll sleep.”

Lucius seemed momentarily confused by the request.

“I must retire to my own chambers.”

Hermione gave a disappointed frown.

“How should I ever get a moment’s slumber with you bare and willing beside me?”

The compliment was a means to appease her. He stepped away and her finger tips fell away from his limply.

“Won’t you stay?”

“It is not how things are done here. You will come to understand.”

He bent down and planted a soft kiss on Hermione’s forehead and folded the covers back over her. It was an unexpected tenderness. She wanted to mention it and stopped herself, fearful it would spoil the moment. Still fighting the urge to cling on to him and beg him to stay, she accepted she would have to sleep alone and settled herself into bed. He had already made his way to the door, as she pulled the covers to her chest and sunk into the softness of the pillow. Lucius turned once more to bid her goodnight.

“Goodnight.”

“Can’t you stay?” she pouted and yawned softly.

“You are exhausted, sleep.”

“Hmm, I suppose…”

Already drifting and letting out a deep sigh, her head sunk further into the plump feather-filled pillows. He was right, she was exhausted and worn out. He had barely flicked off the light, before a blissful and dreamless sleep took over her.

“Hermione?” he whispered.

“Mmm,” she muttered, barely awake.

He paused. Considering his next words carefully. Opening his mouth to speak he stopped himself.

“Sleep well,” he said finally and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally!   
Hope it was worth the wait ;) xx


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry, I thought I had updated this. 
> 
> Something to keep you all entertained if you are on lockdown. Lockdown with Lucius...now there's a thought to keep us all going!
> 
> Stay well and safe, your comments are, as always very much appreciated!

Hermione awoke to the disconcerting feeling of being in an unfamiliar room and in a strange bed. It took her a moment to register exactly where she was. Smirking, she allowed herself to roll in the luxury of a guest bed in Malfoy Manor, content that this time it was not a dream conjured up by the tease of stolen moments in the office, or by that book that had an awful habit of provoking a disturbed night’s sleep. It was very, very real. The memory of the previous night was imprinted on her body, it was in the soreness she felt in her back, in the light, but still visible red marks at her wrists and ankles, and in the persistent dull ache between her thighs. Sighing deeply, Hermione turned over to face the window. Pale winter sunlight was already peeping through the tiny gaps in the curtains. At this time of year, when the days were short and the dark nights and mornings were at their height, she understood if the sun was up, it was time to rise. Part of her wanted to laze and revel in the expansive bed, reliving the night before. She hadn’t paused to make sense of it yet. Perhaps at some point she would; for now, she was living in the moment. The ache to be filled had finally been satisfied, except it hadn’t not at all. Instead it made it all the more pronounced and made her want more. Hermione knew she should get up.

Stirring herself, she couldn’t begin to process the events of last night. The empty space beside her had only exaggerated the vastness of the bed. Hermione starred at it, shocked but able to admit to herself that she wished he was there now, filling it, filling her. Rising and catching sight of herself in the mirror on the dressing table, Hermione was suddenly rather glad he wasn’t. Even in the dim and forgiving light it was evident she’d had a heavy night. Falling into bed without doing a thing, her dark eye make-up left black smudges around her eyes. With a final puff of her cheeks, she tore open the curtains to reveal the view of the estate, still green, though the trees were stripped of their leaves. A thin coiling ribbon of Muggle road twisted and turned around the distant horizon, marking a barrier between land and grey sky. Though she’d never concede it to Lucius it was a stunning vista. Recognising the road as a much-contested by-pass, she imagined him embroiled in the campaign to prevent it being built, in amongst the curtain-twitching old dears and local busybodies, crusty environmentalists and local press. The image made her chuckle.

A polite but determined knock rumbled through the door and disturbed her thoughts. Before she could respond Finchley had already entered. The speed of his arrival, moments after she had stirred, made her question if he had been camped outside the door, waiting patiently and listening for signs of life. Hermione wondered just how late it was. It wasn’t difficult to imaging Lucius would have little time for those who lounged in bed until late morning. What if it was later? He would be angry. The delicious prospect of being punished for such laziness raced through her mind. It dissolved as it dawned on her that she was still completely naked. Scrambling gracelessly, Hermione managed to throw herself back under the covers out of sight. The elf looked disinterested and unimpressed.

“The Master will have you join him for breakfast in the conservatory.”

She could only nod and remained frozen, her cheeks flushed red at the thought of the elf seeing her in all her glory.

“He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” he added with a hint of irritation, utterly unperturbed by the sight.

Instead, the elf stood to attention, apparently awaiting an order.

“Thank you so much, that will be all. I really don’t need anything else”

Hermione smiled warmly. The disagreeable elf softened slightly and handed her a thick fluffy robe.

“You are kind. I’ll try to hurry. I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

“Don’t bother to dress. The Master says you must come now.”

“Finchley you do an amazing job, what a wonderful house elf you are. I don’t think your master appreciates or deserves you. I really don’t.”

Finchley backed away, a smile fought to break out, but as if by a reflex he regressed to his ill-tempered self, muttering under his breath as he left the room, “Finchley has seen it all before. Finchley does not wish to see it again.”

Hermione released a snort of laughter at the elf’s disgust. With only a moment to try and bring order to her hair, clean her face and throw on the barest amount of fresh make-up, she obediently followed the elf downstairs and into to a light, glass-roofed room at the rear of the house. Lucius was already seated in a plush, dark green smoking jacket, the table set for breakfast.

“Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

He was emotionless and formal.

“Very well, thank you.”

Hermione hadn’t had time to consider how the morning after would play out. In the office, they seemed to play two different, but at least defined roles. This was his home; it was the weekend. His expectations were unclear and undefined. Still, his manners were surprisingly impeccable, rising to his feet as she entered the room and bidding her to take a seat beside him. Hermione found her heart leaping at the sight of him. Memories flooded her mind, the feel of his touch, of him deep inside her. Lust stirred instantly. Hermione studied his face and his actions. There was a formality to them. The urge to kiss him fought the knowledge that it was absolutely the wrong thing to do and instead she sat as instructed. He gave away nothing, bar the certainty that his eyes followed the line of her legs as her robe parted as she sat down. Tempted to antagonise him further, she crossed her legs and sat bolt upright, affording him a view all the way up to the top of her thighs. His interest turned to his tea and Hermione gave up.

Finding herself engaged in small talk over breakfast with Lucius Malfoy would have been a surreal experience in any case, more so considering their last meal together. He made no mention of the previous evening. It frustrated her. She watched as he buttered his toast then oh so consciously licked a stray streak of butter from his thumb. It was hypnotic, watching that tongue slowly and deliberately tracing the pad, removing the already melting traces, cleaning it thoroughly. Hermione’s cunt lunged. The slight gasp she made was not wasted on him. He smirked, licking his lips intentionally, before he continued with his breakfast.

“If there is anything additional you require, don’t hesitate to ask. I am sure whatever it is can be arranged by the house elf.”

“No, honestly I’m fine, really and Finchley is really helpful.” It was an exaggeration, at the very least there was no service with a smile, but the last thing she wanted to do was to get the poor thing in trouble. She didn’t imagine he had a great time of it. Praise and thanks seemed alien to him.

“Don’t be shy if you have needs, Hermione,” he said with a hint of innuendo and wickedness.

“I won’t be,” she replied, chewing at her lip and running her fingers through her hair in a conscious effort to appear seductive.

“Of that I am certain.”

Lucius took a sip of tea and seemed disinterested in flirtation. Hermione changed the subject.

“The grounds look beautiful. Even in winter. I would love to look around and enjoy them while I’m here.” It wasn’t entirely what she had in mind, but best not to look completely desperate and horny.

“Do you enjoy the outdoors?”

“Yes, very much, Sir..Master...”

Hermione fumbled for what to call him.

“Lucius,” he interrupted sharply. “You can’t be expected to maintain these things at all times. Relax and eat your breakfast.”

Though she was starving little, she picked daintily at a pastry.

“Do you ride?” he asked.

“A little, I had a few riding lessons. Like lots of girls I suppose, I wanted a pony. I didn’t get one.”

“There are stables here at the Manor, the Malfoys have always kept horses amongst other things. I can’t imagine being without them. Were you too poor to keep them?” It was cold and blunt, a stark reminder of who and what he was.

Anger spiked within her. “Look, my parents were both dentists. We weren’t badly off. Not by most people’s standards, maybe not yours, but I didn’t grow up poor. I didn’t have some terrible childhood living in a cupboard like Harry, neither was I ruined brat like Draco. It’s a big commitment to keep a horse and muggles don’t have house elves to do their bidding, ok?”

Lucius stiffened and shuffled in his seat. “Then I apologise if I have caused offence. In all honesty, I have little concept of muggle life. And your parents?”

“My parents?”

“Yes, what do they do now? You said they were dentists. It implied the past tense. I was enquiring what it is they do now? Enjoying a lengthy retirement, perhaps?”

Hermione sighed. The question seemed real and sincere; he really didn’t know. It still stung and burned, prodding at a sore point she rarely allowed herself to think about.

“I obliviated my parents to protect them from Voldemort. They are overseas and wouldn’t know me if I fell over them.” It was matter of fact. Tears might have come, but she repressed them, as she always did.

There was a difficult silence. Lucius considered what had been said.

“It is, irreparable?”

“It is.”

“And you have no other family to speak of? No siblings?”

“No. No one.”

“I see.”

Hermione was thrown off guard and surprised as Lucius took her hand in his.

“Then I am sorry. It may be of no consolation, but I may as well be obliviated from the memory of my family. We find ourselves very much alone in the world, it seems.”

There was a truth to his words she had considered before but had been unwilling to fully acknowledge.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s how we ended up here.”

He squeezed her hand gently.

“Will you ride out with me this morning?”

“Hmm I might. Is this my compensation for all the times I said Daddy will you buy me a pony?”

Lucius smirked and sucked on his cheeks.

“That sentence is perhaps worthy of exploration at some point, but I fear this is neither the time nor the place.”

Her mouth fell open. She knew exactly what he meant by that. Blushing, she pouted back at him, lowering her voice and looking up at him wide-eyed.

“Please, Daddy,” she said wickedly.

“Enough,” he snapped. “It is settled. We shall ride this morning.”

With a clap of his hands Finchley appeared.

Lucius leant in close, his voice curling into Hermione’s ear, sending sparks through her body.

“I shall assume you have no suitable attire for a _rough _and _vigorous_ riding session.”

The words alone were innocuous. Not when he said them; not the way he said them.

“No…I didn’t expect to be doing that sort of riding.”

He turned his head to look over her shoulder and address the waiting elf. He was pressed close now. Hermione’s heart was starting to thump in her chest. Need and want began to rise through her. It was nothing and yet enough for sticky liquid to start to pool. Pressing her thighs together she tried to contain it.

“Your needs will be attended to.”

Hermione heard the elf shuffle away behind them.

“Now, Rabbit,” he purred as he untied the robe.

It fell open. Bare beneath it, his eyes bored into her as he traced the line of her cheekbone with the back of his hand. It slid further, lightly grazing her neck until he cupped a breast.

“I expect you eager and ready at 10.30.”

He idly rolled a taut nipple between his finger and thumb. Hermione inhaled deeply.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

With that he gave a sharp pinch. A hot sting shot through her, straight to her now throbbing cunt. Unable to contain it, a whine escaped Hermione’s lips. Hot with need she longed for him to shove everything off the breakfast table onto the floor and take her there and then. It would keep, for now.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered back.

“Now go and make yourself decent.” With that he swept out. Hermione pulled in the robe as tight as she could, tugging the cord into a knot, as if it would somehow hold her together.

XXXX

By the time Hermione descended the stairs, Lucius was already waiting. She had been careful not to be a moment too early and certainly not a moment late. It wasn’t only to appease him, usually a stickler for punctuality herself, it was a trait in him she could at least relate to. He inspected the grandfather clock that stood in the hall and though her timekeeping was impeccable, he still managed to look displeased.

Hermione had thought getting out into the fresh air and doing something might serve as a welcome distraction from the relentless throb between her thighs; she wrong. Instead the sight of him, immaculate as ever, his hair tied neatly with a black ribbon, dressed in a hunting jacket and long, polished, black riding boot was doing nothing to reduce the ache. Her stomach lunged as her eye was drawn to the riding crop tucked under his arm. It gave her wicked thoughts. All too aware of them, Lucius smirked.

Finchley had already laid out suitable riding clothes on the bed by the time Hermione had collected herself enough after the conversation at breakfast and returned to her room. They looked new and expensive, fitting perfectly. It made her wonder just how much of an itinerary Lucius had planned in advance. Still, she had put them on unquestioningly.

“Come along,” he barked and made his way outside.

Two fine, saddled horses were already waiting. Hermione thought he was almost impressed as she mounted her ride with ease and set off down the drive. Lucius was a skilled horseman, but she kept up. It had been years since she’d ridden; the competitive streak in her drove her to take risks. Little was said, but there was no doubt he was beginning to test her. The cold air and concentration required fought against the friction and motion of the ride and the distracting sight of his muscular thighs. Yet somehow, she managed to hold on until he commanded that they return to the stables.

Hermione led her horse in and offered him a warm bag of oats in thanks. A loud snort behind her grabbed her attention. Four thestrals stood, stabled with the horses. Drawn to it, she approached gingerly. It sought attention. Extended a hand to stroke it softly, the creature accepted graciously.

“We are close to Muggle dwellings here. Too close to ride them out far or too often without some incantation. Perhaps another time, if you are so inclined.”

The voice that appeared suddenly behind unsettled her. He never failed to do that.

“They are beautiful.”

“They are intriguing creatures,” he had drawn close to her. So close, she could feel the warmth of him behind her. “As are you,” he added.

Hermione swallowed hard and tried not to audibly gasp.

“I find their relationship with sorrow and death fascinating. They are mournful. Depressing. I had imagined a spritely young thing like you may find that a less than desirable proposition. At my time in life mortality is a little more real.”

“You’re not exactly old.”

“Perhaps not, but there is a significant difference in our years.”

“I’ve never given it any thought. I’m not some vacuous kid.”

“I never imagined you were, though you sell yourself short in other ways. You are a far more accomplished rider than you implied. You were…quite a sight.”

“It’s been a while. I’m glad I hadn’t forgotten how to do it.”

“Likewise.”

Hermione petted at the thestral. It snorted and whinnied back at her. “I suppose I am drawn to them now. Others could see them at school, Luna, Harry. I couldn’t. Maybe knowing loss makes us stronger. You see them. Who did you lose? I know things between you and Draco are, well, strained, but he’s still here, alive and well. It’s not unfixable. My parents feel dead to me sometimes, but I know they aren’t and I’m grateful for that.”

“My mother.”

He spoke softly and quietly. It was hard to imagine he was ever a child or had a mother who he loved dearly. Hermione was uncertain how to respond.

“I miss my mum and my dad. My dad was so funny. He would do anything, no matter how ridiculous to make us laugh. Always full of surprises.

“Your father sounds like a decent man.”

“Yours wasn’t?”

There was a difficult pause.

“My father was… a good Slytherin. He taught me to be strong, determined and loyal to the values and principles he believed in, to my very core. He taught me the value of a pure and refined society, to watch my enemies closely and to protect and honour the family name.”

“And your mother?”

“An angel. Every bit as strong, as determined, fierce yet…”

His unease was evident, the shift was sudden.

“Come, Rabbit. I have need of you.”

He was gripping Hermione’s wrist, dragging her to a clean and empty stable box. She followed.

“Strip,” he commanded.

Lucius’ eyes burned with rage and lust. There was hesitation. Should she? Should she allow this? He missed nothing.

“Now. Do as I command.”

The determined tone of his voice was difficult to argue with. His eyes bored into her. Hermione’s desire to satisfy his need, coupled with her own want made it too difficult to deny him. Instead she complied. Slowly removing the jacket, trying her best to kick her way out of her boots and remain on her feet.

“Hurry, girl. Don’t test me.”

With shaking hands, she managed to tear away the rest, until she stood in only her underwear. He tilted her head to examine her. There was still a sense of menace about him. A little afraid, but unable to stop it, the urgency in him and the way his eyes burned were potent. He hooked a finger under her bra strap and snapped it.

“Take it off.”

Hermione obeyed.

He stood back to admire her and just as the fear was subsiding, he reached out and tore away her knickers with one hard yank. He held the thin scraps of black lace in his clenched fist. Hermione shook now, but with anticipation.

“Such a fucking slut. Bend over.”

He roughly directed her to the back wall and placed her hands on a metal bar that ran across the wall. Gripping it, she obeyed as he pushed her back downwards and spread her legs apart.

“Better. What are you? Tell me what you are.”

“A slut,” she replied.

“Hmmm”

“A fucking slut, Master.” The ache deepened. Moisture was already pooling, she could feel it, warm, wet and sticky.

“My, my, my what a filthy mouth you have. I will have to silence it.”

Hermione watched wide-eyed as he took a shining metal horse bit from a peg on the wall. She knew what was coming. She should be horrified; she should refuse to be demeaned that way. Instead she craved it more than anything.

“Open your filthy mouth.”

He slid the cold metal into her mouth and secured its leather straps. Her cunt ached hard.

“There, much better,” he announced as he tugged at her hair, tied tightly in a high ponytail. He yanked again. Hermione moaned into the metal that gagged her mouth.

Watching, unable to speak as he carefully removed his jacket and placed it onto the now vacant peg, then deliberately and slowly roll up each sleeve in turn, Hermione revelled in the slow anticipation. This time as he pulled back his sleeve, she did not flinch at the Dark Mark. Something about its wickedness, the illicit and forbid nature of it turned her on. He smirked.

“Now slut. You have been looking at this all morning. I know you have.”

He wickedly stoked the length of the riding crop.

“Have you slut?”

It was true. Since she first saw him at the bottom of the stairs, Hermione had wondered and wanted, sought its pain and its release. She needed it now. Desperately. He yanked at the straps on the bit, forcing her head back.

“Well, have you slut? Is this what you need?”

Only able to nod her head, she agreed. She wanted and needed to feel its burn and sting.

“Of course, it is.”

He moved behind her. She knew his arm was raised, poised, ready. The wait was everything, hot juices were already leaking and gathering between her legs at the thought of it; her whole body tensed. Still he made her wait, until the swishing sound alerted her it was finally coming. It was a sharp, brutal stroke. The sting and burn radiated through her cheeks. It was delicious. Before she could absorb it or prepare herself, another came, then another, just as hard as the one before. Two more in rapid succession. Hermione clamped down on the bit. Barely able to swallow, spit leaked and dripped down her chin. She didn’t care. In this moment, she lived and existed only for the next glorious stroke. She lost count; her vision blurred. He paused for a second, yanking her head up.

“Stay with me. You are taking it so well. Can you take more? Can you?”

He was wild with excitement. It only made her crave it more. She nodded again feebly.

“Excellent.”

He struck again and again. There was no need to see it to know her bottom was criss-crossed with thick, red, glowing welts. The sting only made her lust more. Every sensation lit the fire in her cunt and made it hurt more than the pain of the crop. Tears formed and fell down her cheek. There was a single word to stop it, she had no desire to think it and use it. Hermione sobbed through the restriction of the bit that muffled the moans and whimpers. She longed for respite and yet ached for more.

Finally, it stopped.

Hermione could hear Lucius panting and out of breath. Heat radiated from her ravaged and burning arse. Sticky wetness seeped from her soaked cunt. A solitary, long and elegant finger traced a line over her dripping slit. It was bliss; so sensitive to touch it made her whole body jolt at the lightest of contact. Two fingers worked inside her and she needed it. Hermione bucked back against his hand, urging him for more.

“There. That’s what you needed. And you did take it so very, very, well, my Rabbit.”

Lucius gently untied the straps and released the bit. Hermione gasped for breath.

“Look at the state of you, covered in drool. Perhaps I should leave you here with the animals where you belong.”

“Please, please.”

There was no effort to disguise the intense and unrelenting desperation.

“Please what?” he demanded.

“Please, Master. I need. I need…”

“What do you need?”

“Your cock.”

The plea was well received. There was just about enough of a view over her shoulder to watch him untucking his shirt and see his hard cock spring free. Hermione made a sharp cry as she felt it nudging between her legs, pressing against the wetness it found there. His fingers dug into her hip as he drove it into her, filling her, stretching her, her greedy cunt opening to accommodate him. It felt so fucking good. He worked in and out of her, sliding almost all the way out until she was sure he would withdraw completely then thrusting hard and deep back in. Hermione moaned for more and Lucius gave it to her.

“Thank you, thank you, yes, oh thank you.”

Barely coherent, every time he brushed against the still throbbing welts on her arse it only served to make her pleasure spike and soar and endless moans and whines escape.

“Please, I’m going to come. I can’t stop. Please.”

He worked in and out of her faster, relishing your needy cries.

“Yes, come for me, Rabbit. Come for me.”

Hermione burst. Gushing and shaking, gripping his thick, hard cock inside her cunt, savouring every hot wave that coursed through her. Without any doubt she had never come harder. There was a disappointment that followed as she felt him slip out of her.

“On your knees,” he barked.

She complied immediately, almost too eager for what she knew would come next.

“Look at that,” he growled.

Hermione looked up. His still hard cock stood before her, coated in sticky juices.

“Look at the mess you made all over my cock.”

She did, licking her lips.

“Clean it. At once.”

She took him into her mouth able to taste her own cunt on him, It turned her on. He allowed a second or two to adjust to the thickness of him in her mouth, no more than that, then pushed in, all the way in, deep until it almost hit the back of her throat.

“Good little slut, lick it clean.”

The feel of Lucius’ cock, full and fat in her mouth excited her. Greedily, she sucked and licked and obeyed until something snapped within him and he gripped her hair and dragged her forcefully up and down the length of it. Eyes watering Hermione took it and took it, looking up at him, watching him slowly lose his grip until she knew the inevitable was close. It drove her on. With three final, determined hard thrusts she felt the hot salty splash of his come hit the back of her throat. It amused her to watch him try and regain control.

“Hold it. Don’t you dare swallow it yet.”

As always, she did as he asked.

“Show me.”

As she opened her come-filled mouth, it dripped down her chin. Hermione swirled it around, savouring and revelling in it.

“Filthy. Disgusting. What a perfect slut. Now swallow it all.”

Hermione took it all down, exaggerating the motion, licking her lips wantonly.

Lucius looked at her disdainfully and mopped up the rest from her face with his forefinger.

“All of it,” he said as he pushed his finger into her mouth. When she was finished sucking off every last drop, he removed it with a pop sound.

“Now clean yourself up and rest. I have a very busy evening planned.”

With that he rearranged his clothes and managed to look completely undisturbed, picked up his jacket and leaving without another word, leaving Hermione in a dripping puddle on the stable floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
Let me know what you think, comments are appreciated and adored!  
Vin x


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